The Cry of a Child Soldier

by Srinivas Balagopal (10)

I stand in motionless shock, Watching my friends run amok. Ripping families of hope, Ending lives at the end of a rope. The darkness we create, In deathly futures, it permeates.

My humanity’s lost, an object of violence, An unwilling slave following a usurper’s cadence. Destined now to unjust servitude, My warlord expects smiling gratitude. No longer a child, but a soldier’s call Duty fulfilled in joyous thrall.

“Matumaini” my parents named me, Praying for my joy and liberty. They dreamed of peace and an education

Perhaps even my graduation! They dreamed their dreams in solitude, Eking out a slim existence with rectitude.

Now, silently I obey

The orders of this silent bey.

With dread eyes and a dead heart I follow his instruction,

Brutality, for me, is not fiction. Irrational cruelty has opened its door, Revealing me as a hunter to my core.

Today, we sow seeds of power, Tomorrow, we reap whirlwinds of vengeance with a bitter glower. My childhood’s ambition was to heal humanity, Defining mortality is now my reality. Machetes and bullets were never my toys, Hard choices rule us lost boys.

Who stands for me? And what I’ve become: A ruthless predator, terrifying scum. Is this the sum of my life’s worth?

The measure of my moral dearth?

I have a dreadful past and certainly no future, Beyond being this warlord’s creature.

Not for me, these childhood stories

Of fruit pies and sporting glories. Of soft cuddles and starry nights, Blue skies and free kites.

Who weeps for me with no father or mother?

Only a smiling warlord enthroned with his scepter.

Everywhere people talk of world peace, Then this forced slavery should cease. If this is truly a free world, Then why am I still in chains?

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