Who creates children,

I asked.

Rustling in through the open window,

Wind said,

Not I

I only give strong nerves of music

to their voices.

I give deep colours

to their eyes,

said Light.

I touch their tender feet

with a smile

said the Red Oleander.

I weave the walls of their hearts

with love’s threads,

said Sea.

I add magic strength

to their laughter,

said Forest.

If that is true

who put guns in their hands

army boots on their feet

grenades at their waist

and hatred in their eyes,

I asked.

Wind and Sea froze;

Light withered,

shattering away

like splinters of glass.

In a single flash of lightning

Flowers and Forest were in flames

and all the birds, in a great flock,

flew into that fire.

Children,

our children.