Between the target
And the impact
Between the coordinates
And the crushed little skulls
Falls the Shadow
​                       Oh! Life is yet bloom and still so short

Between the mission
And the massacre
Between smart bombs
And the severed limbs
Falls the Shadow
                       For Thine is the Empire

Between the precision
And the primary school
Between the seven year olds
And the concrete rubble
Falls the Shadow
                       For Thine is the Sovereignty

One hundred eighty souls,
Gathered on this brink of the swollen Jajrud,
In this valley of dying stars.
They are not targeted,
Just collateral liberation.

The world’s most incisive eyes
Are hollow, stuffed with straw,
Leaning together,
Looking but not seeing,
Or just not wanting to see
The ribbons in the red dust
And the satchels with the little books.

Ninety more must carry the weight,
In this hollow land,
This cactus land.
They carry the weight of the missing limb,
The shattered eyes
And the silence that screams.

No apology is whispered,
No head is bowed in the wind.
Between the liberation
And the butchery
Between the error
And the rage
Falls the Shadow
                       For Thine is the kingdom of Tyranny

This is the way the childhood ends
This is the way the childhood ends
This is the way the childhood ends
Not with a prayer but a blast.​

(With profound apologies to T.S. Eliot—adapted from The Hollow Men and with a silent prayer for the hundreds of little girls who lost their lives or limbs when the bombs came down on them on 28 February 2026)