The whirr of helicopter blades breaks the silence,
But not the peace
As children and youth come out
Come out to play?
They run, hit and stumble,
Garbed in the cloak of freedom fighters
With bare chests and young arms
Hurling stones, not guns
They keep on.
Day after day,
They cry out to the world
Day after day,
They battle
Day after day,
Their numbers dwindle
But more come to take their place.
Their freedom is their goal
Their fate
Death by bullets
Bullets to kill in the heart and to the head,
Bullets to maim in the eyes or legs,
Yet they keep on.
As the world watches from afar
In silence and indifference,
A funeral takes place
Of the young fighter
Clutching in his tender young hand
A stone
To his grave.
(Note: This is based on a true story.)
