As If Children Were Out of Fashion

As if children send us a message before they are conceived and born,
With words so eloquently formed,
Beseeching "I want to born, I want to be born"
Stating in clear terms that this world is a place for which they long.
As if they are not first a product of our pleasure and choice.

As if,
Even as adults we do not crave play,
Like we possessed minds so mature from the very first day.
These routes we walked, we now betray
As if childhood is not part of everybody's tale.

As if childlike innocence is a taboo;
Something to be barnished,
Like messy paper, squeezed and crumpled,
Something that served us
We treat now like it is no good.

As if,
Our young and feeble shoulders caved from abnormal loads,
Naked toes,
Open shoes dusty and battered from rugged streets and their ongoing woes.
For a scanty meal, a child must push their dose,
As if a child signs up for any of those.

The sound of school bells
Replaced by the thunderous sounds of bombs,
Cheerful giggles amidst playing with water guns
Replaced by sore moods of little ones handling deadly arms
Dust raised from feet playing in school fields
Replaced by those raised from little feet running for their lives,
Replaced by fog hovering over the location where a just raised building used to lie,
A place these children used to once reside,
Took the lives of those on whom they rely,
Turned a six-year-old into a damned hustler with red eye;
I wonder why.

As if childhood were out of fashion,
These days, no action.
Words like this might serve only as just another photo caption.

As if, as if.