Loss of Innocence

I played and cavorted along the streets of my town.

I chased dust motes and butterflies.

I laughed and giggled with my friends.

I was young and I was unaware of other things.

Times changed. Adults became uneasy.

Anger filled the air.

I was young and I was unaware of other things.

Then the bombs came.

The sky filled with smoke, cries and screams.

I was young but I was no longer unaware.

I stood and watched as the bodies and injured were brought in.

I stared at the horror that was called war.

I was young but no longer unaware.

I was no longer innocent.

By Rebecca El-Kher

Rebeea Libyan

The Cost of War

I am the mother, the father, the sister, the brother, the child sitting in the rubble.

What is the cost of war?

I am the child sitting in the rubble.

I hear the bombs, the gunfire, and the sounds of screaming as more are buried beneath the rubble.

I am the child sitting in the rubble.

My family is gone, killed by a missile.

I am the child sitting in the rubble.

My possessions buried beneath the pile of concrete and steel.

I am the child sitting in the rubble.

My body is covered with dirt and blood from shrapnel of the missile that took all from me.

I am the child sitting in the rubble.

I did not know hate, I am too young, but now I will learn hate and fear.

I am the child sitting in the rubble.

I am quiet. The time for tears have passed, I feel nothing as the shock overtakes me. My stare is blank.

I am the child sitting in the rubble.

I am a citizen of the world. My innocence stolen by a war I did not ask for and a crime I did not commit.

I am the child sitting in the rubble.

My nationality, ethnicity, or color does not matter.

I am the child sitting in the rubble.

I will now learn to hate.

I am the cost of War.

By

Rebecca El-Kher

Rebeaa Libyan