Smiling in Aleppo

Eleven seconds before midnight,
The spring of early march Sprung
What better than a mighty firework
Without celebration
No festival of any sort

A cloud of fire,
One that's high above the night sky
The boom and blast
Bestowed upon oblivion
For four seconds of daylight, unseasonal

A show put on for us, children, to enjoy
But what is joy?

Blessed the innocent eyes
To what may watch over them
Because children do not see intentions,
they see, what you show them
Because birth is not a compromise
Conspired to be a political game
For childhood is to be treasured,
To be remembered, in all its glory

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