Tell Me Little Soldier Boy

18 Mar 2012

Tell Me Little Soldier Boy;
     Are you proud of what you've accomplished?
          Are you proud of the sight,
Of people,
     Lying
          Still
               and
                   Cold?
Silenced by your hands,
     Silenced by my voice?

I ask you Little Soldier Boy;
     Are you happy with the tears you have brought,
Upon a Mother,
     Whilst her son lies in the sand,
Buried
        at
           Eighteen?
You laughed at her pain,
     Did you mean it?

You keep telling others,
     That you're bringing glory to your country;
To
     Your
          Home.
Your
     Family.
What is glory, Little Soldier Boy?
     Where is the honour,
          In killing others?
Killing people that are only defending,
     Their
          Homes.
Their
     Families.

Why Little Soldier Boy?
     Why treasure my existence?
          But not the lives of your brothers?
Haven't you a heart?
     A
        Soul?
A care for your race?
     Your world?
          Humanity?
Why clean my already gleaming surface every night?
     When a little girl stands behind you,
          Alone
               and
                    Afraid.
Coated with a second skin,
     Of mud?

Please Little Soldier Boy;
     Why the thirst for blood?
          For pain?
               For war?
Why don't you go home?
     To your mothers?
          Sisters?
               Brothers?
Why stay on the battlefield?
     Surrounded by death and despair?

Return home Little Soldier Boy.
     Where you can laugh in the rain,
          And play in the mud.
Without fearing death.
     Go home,
          Where you belong.
Let me free!
     Release me from my bondage;
          Don't let me slay the innocent.
I beg you Little Soldier Boy,
     Go home!
          Leave me behind.

I'm nothing but a tool for murder;
     I watch the flash of fear,
          In a child's eyes.
Before we unite,
     And wipe the look off their little face.
It doesn't always work that way though, does it?
     Sometimes their faces stay the same.
Haunted,
     Even
            In
               Death.

Let me free Little Soldier Boy;
     It's my only wish.
But I know you won't stop.
     Can't
          Stop.
So I'll always be here,
     By your side.
You holding me in a firm grip;
     Sometimes in fear,
          Sometimes in despair,
               Once or twice in joy.

I stay,
     Because you're my Little Soldier Boy.
And I've got nowhere else to go;
     No purpose,
          But as the saving force of your life.
               The saving point of your sanity.
                     Your purpose.

As
     The
          Weapon
                In
                    Your
                         Hands.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Masha'allah Hadiyah!
Jazakaalah Hairun! Can't w8 2 see ur next post!

Anonymous said...

Hadiyah's poem are great...the one you read @ the youth group, Hadiyah, was fabulous!

joyful giggles said...

Masha'allah Hadiyah!

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