We carried on firing in dark
And the silence was fragmented,
Those incessant sparks
Tore apart flesh and blood
Along with multiple groans.
In that chiaroscuro,
A glimpse of that Iraqi child
Who resembled my dead son,
Was besmeared with pain --
Hell, the information was wrong!
A marionette was I
Dying of unlamented slaughter,
He wouldn’t come again smiling
With those innocent hands,
But came million times in nightmares!