The Five-Year Old

A half and four years have passed so soon,
I didn’t realize how time flies by,
Now I am five, and I go to a school,
Where children like me come and study along.
They teach a lot here, about values and all,
When to say Thank you, when to say Please,
And tell us we should never be ashamed,
Of saying sorry when we’ve done something wrong.
But mother, yesterday, after they blew off the school,
And shot grenades at the local markets too,
None of them said sorry, none of them apologized,
Then, what they did, wasn’t it wrong enough?
If it wasn’t, then why do they say,
These people should be hanged, and named terrorists?
Who is a terrorist mother, is he like us?
Does he breathe the same air we do?
Is he not a man, and does he not have a mother,
Just like you and I do?
He kills so many people,
But if they weren’t killed,
They would still die, one day or the other,
Then why is killing people wrong, mother?
They never talk about this at school,
They don’t have classes on this and that,
And when we ask, our teachers scold us,
And reprimand us, saying we ought know none.
But pray, tell me, I beg of you,
Why do you ask me to become a doctor,
A lawyer, an engineer, a chef, or a banker,
Yet never talk about being a terrorist?

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