Somewhere the missile inflames the city.
Somewhere the flame-of-the-forest's beauty.
Somewhere, the air smells of gulaal.
Somewhere, the gunpowder stinks the wall.
Somewhere children carrying colours cry in zest.
Somewhere they cry to put their pain to rest.
Somewhere water guns spray red coloured water.
Somewhere a gun is shot and everywhere red blood spatter.
Somewhere children happily colour each other red.
Somewhere they cry seeing their parents dropping dead.
Somewhere they hide behind doors to save themselves from colour.
Sometimes in dread they try to hide their sickly pallor.
And we proudly call this one world? Are we really one?
Then how can so many children suffer while others are having fun?
