AN IRAQI BABY


Yes, he is four,
and yes, he is one of 5000 under five
each single month so far
dying of hunger in one small nation only.*

He cries, if he can, not for toys
or a candy bar or a scoop of ice-cream.
His thoughts are not of these
but for a cup of milk,
a piece of date, bread, or pill,
a spoon of medicine,
hoping he lives one day more.

Oh my child I hear you crying of pain and hunger,
although the distance between us is too far.
I know you look for basic needs but these
you cannot find!

I see you withering, drying, dying, shaking,
falling down like a dried flower
between the arms of your weaker, saddened mom.

She has nothing to wash you with
but her warm tears,
and the world is deaf and blind,
and the United Nations
works hard, no doubt, to count the
number of dying kids.

At last, a question may arise:
Are we most civilized or in the darkest age?!
Time is ticking.
The skies are about to stone us!
about to rage, to rage, to rage!

* Reference to sanctions imposed on Iraq by the United Nations from August 6, 1990, stayed largely in force until May 2003

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This Poems Story

A sad story of the Iraqi babies who suffered under the sanctions imposed on Iraq by the United Nations from August 6, 1990 and stayed largely in force until May 2003.