What will I do? What should I do?
I can’t, no, I can’t jeopardize nor blew
I am in the verge of life and death
I can’t even hold my breath
She is but a little child
Soft innocent and mild
Devoured by false ideology
Consumed by selfish insensibility
The child or my team
As the bomb she’s holding it seems
Spare the child and let my friends die
Why little child? Just why?
I am drowning by my own sweat I can’t hinder
As my hands shake while holding the trigger
But she will kill them and they are unaware
This isn’t what I signed for, this isn’t fair
As I painfully look away
While pulling the trigger I stay
And there she is my sweet child
Lying on the ground dead and mild.
Poetry and Art Is Life 