[headline]by Amna Gohar (Late)[/headline]
I watch them dig my grave
All gallant men so brave
With all their might and mien
I see them cinders gleanp
For them it is a game
Culling a face without a name
But I’m my mother’s son
Tell me is dying fun?
They promise me toys and shoes
Frilly clothes with varying hues
What use are toys with limbs gone?
Shall clothes my festering corpse don?
They see not my stifling fears?
My cheeks speckled with tears?
Or are they men of steel?
My behests do not make them feel?
I’m told it’d be a cinch
I’ll hurt not nor flinch
But I know I’m going to cry
I don’t yet want to die!
Kill me not, oh please!
Pray, halt your hand
I’m just a child
Like children in your land!
