Looking through old textbooks I found some poems by children during the Bosnian genocide in 1995. We often hear stories of cruelty and oppression from the mouths of adults, but what do the children who've been through such things see? It's harder to accuse them of partiality.
When I walk through town, I see strange faces, full of
bitterness and pain. Where has our laughter gone?
Where is our happiness? Somewhere far, far away
from us. Why did they do this to us? We're their kids.
All we want is to play our games and see our friends.
And not to have this horrible war.
There are so many people who did not ask for this
war, or for the black earth that is now over them.
Among them are my friends.
I send you this message: Don't ever hurt the children.
They're not guilty of anything.
--Sandra, 10, from Vukovar
The soldiers ordered us out of our house and then burned it
down. After that, they took us to the train, where they ordered
all the men to lie down on the ground.
From the group, they chose the ones they were going to kill.
They picked my uncle and a neighbor!
Then they machine-gunned them
to death. After that, the soldiers put the women
in the front cars of the train and the men in the back. As the
train started moving, they disconnected the back cars and took
the men off and to the camps. I saw it all!
Now I can't sleep. I try to forget, but it doesn't work. I have
such difficulty feeling anything anymore.
--Alik, 13, refugee
If I were President,
the tanks would be playhouses for the kids.
Boxes of candy would fall from the sky.
The mortars would fire balloons.
And the guns would blossom with flowers.
All the world's children
would sleep in a peace unbroken
by alerts or by shooting.
The refugees would return to their villages.
And we would start anew.
--Roberto, 10, from Pula
