I walk through a large amount of debris
Through the valleys of death
A place where dreams lay buried
Beneath the atmosphere of threat.

A distant voice falls in my ears
And my mind goes in search
the cry of a child
in a warland wild.

Where even hopes are hopeless
the baby lays there
not wrapped in silk or linen
but in blood stained clothes.

Pray
let this be
the negation of tomorrow’s world.