Avows to defy the world,

Every naissance; a squeal,

Ironic, satirical to the brim,

When all it is, merely a zeal.


Languishing over the years,

Would make one, an ascetic introvert,

A Thorny rose, budding in this desert,

Caressing that lone, this deep hurt.


Searching yet another, trivial abode,

Sun sore are those, pretty eyes,

To further sorrow, all the dreams,

How innocent thoughts, a disguise.


Child of my thought, O progeny of the world,

How tormented, broken, yet living,

That pint of trial, send to us,

Let the world crash, to yonder burning.




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This poem is based on the misery of young children starving in Somalia, a country already destroyed by years of civil war and anarchy. The country has found itself further crippled by George W. Bush’s "War on Terror"; however not through war or politics itself but by shutting down the transfer agents who send money from Somalis around the world back to their families. The FBI have effectively cut the country off from one of its main sources of income.Those who suffer most from times of war and poverty are always the children. With no schools, facilities or books available, there is no chance of an education to provide tools for Somalia’s next generation. With unemployed parents, children go hungry. With the law of the gun on the streets, youngsters grow up respecting only guns. And for two generations now, Somalis have known nothing but war. The only thing feeding many families has been money sent from relatives living abroad. But with this source gone, what are Somalis to do, and how are their children to eat? When will Bush realise that hungry stomachs fuel more anger towards America rather than good will?