In the shadow of grand monuments and towering flags,
Where leaders speak in thunderous tones and fiery rage,
The small whispers of children are drowned in the clamour,
Their delicate dreams, crushed beneath armoured boots.

When war drums beat and trumpets blare,
It is the lullabies that fall silent,
The laughter of innocence, extinguished,
Replaced by the wailing of mothers and the haunting cries of the lost.

Fields that once held play and imagination,
Now scarred, barren, laden with sorrow,
Little feet that danced to the rhythm of life,
Now tread cautiously, avoiding remnants of hate.

It is said, nations rise and empires fall,
But what of the children who never asked for walls?
Who dreamt only of skies and stars,
Of love and play, not of scars.

The people, we yearn for peace, for unity’s embrace,
Yet it is our young, our hope, who pay the steep price,
In a world where power overshadows the tender,
Where might trumps right, and the innocent are rendered voiceless.

When history is written, and tales are told,
May we remember not just the brave and the bold,
But the silent stories of those too young to understand,
Why peace was stolen from their land.