Child Soldier Poem by Shirani Rajapakse

Little child with the big gun
Do you know how to use it?
Have you seen what it can do, to
you, to others? Tear them into
pieces, with just one pull of your
finger on the trigger?

Little child with the big gun
does it write? Does it read?
Does it tell you stories as you
sleep? Cocooned in your little world all
alone on the cold hard earth you call
a bed, in a room full of people, too
small to move, with men cocking
guns, to lull you to sleep?

Little child with the small hands
do they ache as you carry that load of steel?
Strutting around on tiny feet too feeble
to carry even your own body weight. With
bullets strung like garlands round
your little tired neck. Do you hurt, do
you weep?

Little child with the small hands
do you yearn to hug something they call a toy?
Or is the gun all that for you, parent,
guardian, friend and toy, taught by your
masters. The lessons of love - hate is the most
wonderful feeling in life, learn it and
you'll never go down.

Little child with the sad eyes
do you yearn for your life that you lost?
Or have they told you that this was what
you were born for. To fight in line
to save another man's life. While he,
coward that he is, lives guarded in luxury
enjoying all and more, and everything
you too should have. But don't.

Little child with the sad eyes
do tear drops ever leave your eyes?
Have you felt the warmth of tears on your
cheek, tasted the salt of tears on your
tongue, rejoiced in the release of what
tears can do, soften your sadness, raise your
hopes, take you to another world, show you
another life, give you another
chance - at being a child?

Little child with the lifeless form
do you feel peace at last?
Sprawled on the ground, all by yourself,
deserted by your friends, hugging a
big gun, dreaming of fairies and gnomes
and the good people you never
knew? While in another village, another little
child is groomed to take your place.