I stare at the empty ceiling
and feel that there are words written there
just out of my reach
always out of my reach
to feel the rath
unable to grasp
their terror, as the men tremble in their shoes
why I have to listen to mama cry
unable to understand why
why a child is suddenly a dog, just one more mouth to feed
a dog that is suddenly a mouse, nothing on a curb
a curb, which cars no longer go by
a curb, at which bodies fall to, embracing the welcome darkness
bodies, that consists of bones, skin, and sadness

I'd heard that children used to play together
is that even possible?
when everyone is just another threat
when children steal from each other
a meal
one more ticket to another day in hell
another day of troubles, with no answers
and if answers exist, they frolic at the top of the barbed wire above
or my ceiling, always out of my reach, childish reach
if only someone would let down a hand
a hand, a hand...