From: smt1@index.com.jo (Suleiman M. Turaani .)

To Whom It may Concern!
Iraqi Child
April, 2000


                            This is the story that must be told
                               Of an Iraqi baby, not very old

                           Lying in her crib on a star-lit night
                       How could she know of those planes in flight?

                         She lies there quietly touching her nose
                           Watching her mobile, wiggling her toes

                            Oohing and cooing, so sweetly is she
                            Talking to someone, who could it be?

                        An angel is standing with her in the room.
                         The baby is smiling, unaware of her doom.

                    The crib starts to shake and the mobile goes round
                       Then suddenly comes the most deafening sound

                        The ceiling drops in, in a second or two...
                            On her crib so she ceases to coo....

                            No one knows how long she lies there
                        Who thought about it? Doesn't anyone care?

                        Is she alive? Is she dead? Is she in pain?
                       Now that you mention it, who knows her name?

                         Her name is Amal, in English we say Hope
              Crushed between the rubble, her tiny fingers start to grope!

                           Where is my Mommy? I love her so dear.
                           Come get me Mommy! It's dark in here!

                      I'm scared and hungry and I can't see my feet,
                   There's blood in my mouth! Give me something to eat!

                          Where is Daddy? Where's my big brother?
                       It hurts when I breathe! Where is my mother?!

                     How long have I been here? Is this just a dream?
                         I open my mouth, but I can't even scream!

                                They appear again by my side.
                     This time with a tear I plead...Why have I died?

                  Am I alone in my suffering? NO, there are many others.
                In our grief and misery, we are all sisters and brothers.

                    Who are we, I ask you.. for what crime did we die?
                      They're throwing a party! Doesn't anyone cry?!

                        Is it true? Am I nothing?! How could it be?
                        Don't they also have babies, just like me?

                       It is war they say, of which death is a part.
                     How blind they've become, how hardened of heart.

                         Did someone say hero? To whom they speak?
                         A victory claimed for killing the weak?!

                          Why are they happy? Why are they proud?
                   Don't they know that I'm cold in my burial shroud?!

                        No war has been won; no ifs, buts or maybes
                  For Saddam still lives: THEY'VE ONLY KILLED BABIES!!!