The Tune

What tune is being played tonight;
For children sleeping sound and tight?
Dreaming of balls, dolls and fake weapons,
Away from real bombs and canons;
Hoping they won�t face a fate,
Whether early or late;
Like Qana�s children who though innocent and sweet,
Ended up being cooked like raw meat,
By the enemy�s hatred and ignorance,
Having no limit to their vengeance.

Children born in a village,
Where Jesus showed his image
Of peace and prosperity,
In a loving and innocent community;
Turning water into wine,
As a divine miraculous sign;
To cherish the social spirit,
Where love has no limit;
Hoping to put an end
To bloodsheds that never end;
Since this is not the first time
That Qana�s children face such a crime.
They did not know that certain fingers
Were composing tunes on pianos and tinkers;
To steal their lives away,
Not to see the sun another day;

To their dawn to put an end,
Leaving wounds that are so hard to amend.
Their passion for life was so strong,
But Oh! How much they were wrong!

Was this done for us to lose hope?
With a loud voice, I say nope!
Yet as long as the sun rises and the moon shines,
And the devil on such bloody massacres dines;
The fingers will wander through the keys,
Playing all kinds of melodies,
That are loved by children they say,
For them we shall only pray.

Samar
Monday, July 31, 2006