He sees them wandering
in streets filled with debris:
they are dirty and lean,
and don't speak a word;
many horrible things they have seen,
many screams they have heard
and staring at the soldier trotting...
they seem to say, " Help us, please! "
Their pitiful appearance and those tearful eyes that make
his frozen soldier's heart thaw like ice
that melts when winter leaves and Nature awaits an early spring;
he looks at them and forgets the enemy's faces
when his conscience numbed and the only thought was,
" Kill or be killed! It's all about survival, not hate...
tomorrow one of these children could be my own when the unpredictable dice
turns and the invader takes over my devastated land and freedom will not ring. "
And while the rest of the soldiers search for the little survivors,
either alive or dead...desperately clinging to their mothers' breasts,
the rookie soldier stops along the bombarded road that smells of death
and picks up the little girl who is screaming and is running out of breath,
" Hang on, beautiful girl, I am a good soldier...don't be afraid of me;
you are a lucky child: I'll fix your wound and find your mom whenever she may be. "