The war does not discriminate;
Fists clenched, it grits decaying teeth
And laughs its cocky, cackling laugh
Before the tanks and missiles strike.
Onlookers trawl chunks of horror
From the ocean of public grief,
Where treasured souvenirs are crushed
And no one can identify
The charred remains in plastic bags.
Yet those round here whisper a name:
A woman, a teacher by trade,
Who carved out some real achievement
From this grime of desperation,
With not one molecule of hate.
But war does not discriminate.