From Indonesia with love

Children everywhere.

Cute, little girls here, good-looking boys there

All crammed on a bus, stretching out their necks

as far as they could,

looking out for those they love so much

who might be somewhere there or be gone for good.

That blank look in their weary eyes,

as if deprived of any feeling,

betrays somehow the fear in disguise

that keeps deep inside stealthily creeping.

Small wonder,

they've witnessed yonder

horrifying things never happened before.

They've seen the suffering

of parents, sister, brother

and many, many more.

They've heard screams they ought not hear.

They've watched abuses they ought not see.

Inflicted upon those to them so very dear.

Why all this has had to happen they don't see.

Their poor minds now are polluted heavily

with scenes produced so devilishly.

And worse still for these little dearies,

if they themselves, too, have experienced those agonies.

Rocks thrown blindly over here,

gunshots blasting over there,

groans, blood and drops of tears,

now they'd rather not care.

Appalled I turned my head from this horrid scene

as exposed by CNN on my TV screen.

And there by my side my grandson is playing with his toy.

Happy-go-lucky, full of joy.

Getting tired he now murmurs a tune that blends so sweetly

with the melancholic prayer from a mosque in the vicinity.

And I too find myself praying

for all those helpless children suffering

wherever they might be.

-- By Djoeweriah P.S.