This is my first poem. Like first love, a poet can always point, without a shadow of doubt, which is his first work. That is because every first attempt, in anything, makes you realize that you are capable of something new. A self-discovery. Indeed, how many of you ever thought yourself capable of losing yourself in the sweet memories of a lover before you found one?  My first poem gave me the pleasure of allowing to call myself a poet, if only in my mind…

THE LOST CHILD

He is a victim of hatred, that exists between nations.

He lost all his happiness, when he lost his near relations.

At a young age of innocence , he became like an old,

All the mischiefs of a boy, all his smiles were sold.

He was forced to live in ditches with no one to care about,

He slept without proper food , days in and days out.

No one ever consoled him , no one heard his cries.

His life was full of tears that cascaded down his eyes.

His sorrows never ended, each day they multiplied

Due to all the discards, the poor soul died.

These are the consequences of war, the curse of anger,

The enemy of humanity, to humans, a danger.

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