O baby! I saw your photo,
You were dressed as a soldier,
With guns and a bomb
Tied to your waist,
I cried for a long time.

O child! I saw your photo
Throwing stones at soldiers,
Out in the streets,
Cursing and yelling,
I was shocked.

I saw your big brother,
Dying on the road,
He had just blown a bus full
Of kids, and moms like yours,
I was stunned.

I read about your father
Crossing the border and
Blasting a temple,
He killed those praying for peace,
I was speechless.

Your many uncles sneaked into
A theater, took hundreds of
Hostages, ready to slay them,
Hundreds were killed,
Your uncles too.

O my dear! I want to see
You in the arms of your
Mother, playing and giggling,
Waving and smiling,
In beautiful baby clothes.

I want all your brothers,
With lots of books, not stones,
Reading and talking, and playing,
Not cursing and yelling insults at
Those they don't know.

I want smiles on your face,
Not a weird frown of hate,
I want visions in your eyes,
Not a tide of surging anger,
You have many dreams to fulfill.

My baby, my child, my young friend,
Tell your fathers, and your uncles,
Your loving moms, your big brothers,
You need all their love, all the
Tenderness, full life and not death.

Go tell your preachers, you
Don't want lessons in Jihad,
No suicides, no attacks on
Innocents, no bombs, no blasts,
On the holy land we all share.

Tell all Osamas, Saddams, all Arafats,
All Musharrafs of your world,
No more terror, no more killings,
You yearn to grow, in peace, in plenty,
You want to live, and let others live.

Yatindra Bhatnagar
3/17/2003