I feel my guilt, it burns inside:
Beneath the ruins of a deceitful world,
A child lies wounded, left to die alone.
His tiny frame, wrapped in despair,
A life too young, in a world so unfair.
His clothes are rags, his body torn,
A heart too heavy for one so worn.
No mother’s smile, no father’s song—
his brothers and sisters are all gone .
I see him there, in bitter cold,
His eyes—too empty, far too long.
He searches the streets for bread and crumbs, no love to find,
Only shadows of humanity and empty words
I kneel before him, hand outstretched, with a coin of hope in the palm of my hand,
and plead within my heart that he will take my offering, nothing blessed.
A coin, a meal, a shelter warm—
But can it mend a life so broken and torn?
Can a coin restore a mother’s smile and a family’s laugh?
Can a coin heal his shattered soul,
Of a child whose every dream is dust,
Whose every hope is under the rubble of the devil’s hateful lust?
He stares at me, too numb to cry—
What can I give when the world’s gone dry?
I feel my guilt, it burns inside—
How will we be forgiven for such disdain as he is near to god and we are far?
Is this how pitiful humanity has become,
To look, then turn our heads away in deceit?
To offer coins and fix a price on a little soul and think we’ve done enough?
What justice demands for every one?
His hands don’t move to take my gift,
His soul too broken, far adrift.
And in his silence, I understand—
It’s not just him we’ve left unmanned.
And yet, within his haunted eyes,
A flame, his parents’ warrior fight, still lies.
A fire that grief cannot undo,
The strength of those he never knew.
It’s us, the ones who walk on by,
Who let his world crumble and left humanity to die.
And as I rise, his pain still near,
It’s not his shame—it’s ours to fear.
Khansaheeb
