“Arise, cry out in the night: in the beginning of the watches: pour out thine heart like water before the face of the Lord: lift up thy hands toward him for the life of thy young children, who faint for hunger at the top of all the streets.”–Lamentation 2:19 KJV

Dear Readers:

I dedicate this piece to the children living in war-torn countries, those whose resilience shines despite unimaginable hardship, whose voices deserve to be heard, and whose stories must not be forgotten.

With a General Arts and Science Diploma and a deep passion for literature and documentaries, I am committed to exploring diverse perspectives and uncovering stories that matter. I am especially moved by narratives that shed light on social issues, particularly the often-overlooked experiences of children. For my creative writing course, ‘Thinking Outside the Box,’ I poured my heart into a poignant free verse reflection on war, injustice, and the forgotten lives of those forced into the margins. Through this piece, I seek to draw readers of all ages into the silent struggles of resilient children, urging us to acknowledge their grief, stand beside them, and offer unwavering support and compassion for their unseen sorrows.

jjf’2025

From the Voices

The morning after the war.

I heard the voices of children singing: 

“to our nation,

to our people,

to our fellow men,

let there be peace on Earth.“

Not that anyone cared.

The children in rags stood at the storefront

watching the action on the big screen,

unsure whether tomorrow will come.

They have no clue about the meaning

of their political leader.

I listened to the voices of mothers crying,

“Our babies have gone astray.“

And faintly in the distance, fathers are praying–

“Who shall deliver us from this viperous generation?“

I listened to a global chorus lament,

“Infamy is a reproach to the people–

whether in the Western or Eastern sphere.“

Yet, rising from among them, a tired voice proclaimed,

“Let oneness bow in solitude,

the litany of languages lamenting

for our people, who are on Earth;

Who will give these little ones their daily bread?”

No affirmation.

No amen.

No regards.

They stood in the ruins,

unknowing of the storm that left them there.

Unkempt bodies groveled in the late night, 

coveting garbage containers. 

Their feet ached for shelter, 

eyes burned from wandering in the dark. 

Yet amid the shadows, a light beamed;

a hand outstretched, a gentle whisper, 

the wind carried a promise:

“You are not forgotten.“

The night lifts its voice, 

reaches out like a shadow, empty and exposed…

as soft voices cry: 

“Please help.” 

“Spare some money.”

“Any food?”

“We have no home.”

While weary eyes pierced the darkness,

a lantern glows in the dense humidity.

A beacon of light as the shelter opens its door,

a stranger knelt, giving thanks for the donations–

expired, but still sustaining.

For one night, they find refuge,

a brief escape from the harshness

of their world.

But as dawn nears,

The streets call them back,

and the search begins once more.

Although hope did not rise from the ashes,

kindness endured.

A whispered voice reached out,

carrying something unspoken–

an echo of longing, a quiet plea,

hoping for the children’s recovery.

(c) jjf’ (c) Written 2013 Edited 2025

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Thanks for reading! :)