“It’s not my war!”

In the heart of chaos,
where bombs roar,
children scream,
“It’s not my war!”

Their cries echo,
piercing through.
“Why must we suffer?
What did we do?”

Playgrounds now
fields of dread,
dreams shattered,
life's are bled.

Little hands
that should hold toys,
now grasp at life,
silenced joys.

“It’s not my war,”
they shout in pain,
innocence drowned
in the blood-soaked rain.