Black corpses and shattered fleshes…
Chaos, smoke and wreckage….
Smell of fresh blood lingers in the air
he is there, in that inferno,
running legs nearly stamping him, the wretched tot….
running legs nearly stamping him, the wretched tot….
His bleeding hands,
Clutching a broken bangle of his lost little sister,
He sits,
Near a handful of ashes and bones-his mother,
He cries and cries all alone,
But this deaf, insane world will never hear
Flowers so bright and vivid
Bloomed in his dreams once….
Now they all wilt in the burning war…
He, now an orphaned, tattered kite,
in this black sky……
The lost love, the blithe childhood,
He will never find again
His little heart will be numb,
His weak eyes will be vengeful soon….
Though far away is he
His cry pierces the silence of this night
Rings badly in my ears,
His cry, a nightmare,
a sharp sword deep into my soul…
