A Little Syrian Boy

His mother struggled a little more to push him alive,

Hiding along his little look-alike flock, he quickly turned five.

His eyes saw frequent ambush and men with guns randomly killing the innocent,

how easily his flock reduced in number, in spite their every step vigilant.

He knew to draw, so he drew a bigger house with rocks of his bombed hut,

Seeing this, his mother smiled and believed his son when he said,

'Mom, Never a door is ever shut'.

Tears in motion rolled his cheeks to see his father bleed,

He later bowed down to pray that his father steps in heaven for his little good deed.

Life is woeful, he oftentimes heard his mother mumble,

But he knew no better life, little soul, sincere and humble.

That was when he heard a sound little more rebellious,

And his little more fragile soul made him lose his conscious.

On opening his eyes, he found himself in his bleeding mother's lap,

He was on his verge of death and could only breath in gaps.

However, the little Syrian boy could manage to tell his mother,

Do not worry Mom, I was born to die, a little early matter not.