“Children are like wet cement, whatever falls on them makes an impression.”
This is the summary of an unusual kind of poetry creatively written and performed by Ruddapoet.
Some children will die
Some will only cry
And the louder their voices get
The more silent their deaths.
These children, our children, have a right to sleep without fear of war, violation or abuse, and torture. “They are a fragile gift from God. Their faces cannot tell which smiles are accurate.”
Today these children “have become buildings coughing out their blocks,while uncertainty becomes the dreads that breaks their locks.”
The metaphors in this innocent rendering are timely, weighty and exact. The images are descriptive and intact. The similes carry the weight of their horror like a pulley. Some children from these horror never recover fully.
“No sun,no moon.No home,not soon.”
Their dreams are shattered. Their hopes battered, and as they sleep,their hearts forget to close the eyes of their souls.
But nothing promises more than a prayer, and Ruddapoet gathered the words to simply appeal:
“I want every child to sleep with two eyes shut.” Those alive and those forever gone!