Born into chaos, beneath a weeping sky,
Where the earth shakes and angels cry.
No lullabies soothe, no soft embrace,
Only the cold of a shattered place.

The cradle is rubble, the walls are scarred,
Dreams of a childhood stolen and charred.
A tender heart taught to fear the sound
Of roaring planes and the trembling ground.

The streets are their playground—empty, decayed,
Where laughter once rang but has since been betrayed.
They run past ruins, their tiny feet bare,
Searching for something that isn’t there.

A doll without limbs, a ball torn apart,
These are the treasures that soothe their heart.
But even these trinkets, broken and small,
Cannot replace what the bombs took from all.

They’ve seen too much with eyes too young,
The mourning of mothers, the songs unsung.
Fathers who vanish, never return,
Homes reduced to...