"The call of Palestine" by Praharshita of B.Sc MBTC First Year 

Picture Credit: Special Arrangement 

Our laughs and giggles on school grounds,

Replaced by the anguish and terror of battlefields.

How funny it seems those little hands,

Once dipped in paint for school projects,

Now, drenched in blood on hospital beds.

The crayons held to draw a bright world,

Now, been replaced by tools of war,

Our dreams fade like the smoke in the air.

Tears might be the only water source left,

As rivers dry, soaked in grief and despair.

When did hide and seek go from playing,

To running, hiding from men with guns,

Who wear faces we can no longer understand?

The stories we read before bed,

Once filled with knights and castles,

Now, speak of survival and loss.

The swings hang still, the playgrounds empty,

As the echoes of laughter fade into silence,

Where did we lose ourselves, 

In a world we didn’t choose?

Our homes turned to dust,

Our memories tangled in fear.

We grew up too soon,

The price of innocence, 

Paid in a currency of sorrow.

And yet, we hold on,

For somewhere deep inside, the child still waits,

For the world to turn kind again.