Syria

The ink vanishes from poem;
Love from the lover's eyes,
Walls painted with blood 
By brush made of baby's hair..
The inventor of ammunition -
Might not thought of consequences
Else science could have stopped
The bloodshed around.

Today's terror for tomorrow's territory
Gulps the innocent smile.
The burnt bodies smell like hell
Babies forget how to cry..
In the name of democracy-
The rampage goes on,
Power remains on the hand of some..

After eras when the baby will ask
What was the fault in his stars?
Frame an answer to reason your guilt
Or else ask him to wait to get an answer
From the next bloodshed around...