Yes, he is four,

and yes, he is one of 5000 under five,

every single month so far,

dying of hunger in a small nation only*.

He cries if he can, 

not for toys,

or a candy bar, 

or a scoop of ice cream.

His thoughts are not of these,

but for a cup of milk,

a piece of date, bread, or pill,

a spoon of medicine,

hoping he lives one day more.

Oh, my child, 

I hear you crying of pain and hunger,

although the distance between us is too far.

I know you look for basic needs 

but you cannot find these!

I see you withering, drying, dying, shaking,

falling like a dried flower

between the arms of your weaker, saddened mom.

She has nothing to wash you with

but her warm tears,

as the world falls deaf and blind.

and the United Nations

works hard, no doubt, to count 

the number of dying kids.

At last, a question may arise:

Are we most civilized?

Do we live in the darkest age?!

Time is ticking.

The sky is about to stone us!

It's about to rage, rage, rage!

* Reference to sanctions imposed on Iraq by the United Nations from August 6, 1990, stayed largely in force until May 2003