Centre of a Wreck

The kitchen's in fire, 
And the streets are bare, 
The men walked in with guns 
Breaking the white walls 
Killed my father 
With bullets from their guns of hate 
Burnt my mother 
With the fire from their matchsticks of rage 
The kitchen's in fire 
Fuming with cries of my mother 
And the streets are bare 
Filled with carcasses all over 
They said its peace 
In the televisions and radios 
They said its to protect rights 
In the newspapers and promises 
But what I see is the blood stained face 
Of a child searching for his arm 
In all this pile of blood and flesh 
But what I see is the smudge of the cake 
Of some birthday party of someone's love 
All over the broken table in the center of this wreck. 
I see only this and many but not peace 
I hear only cries and agony but not democracy 
Where is this happiness and who defines it for us 
The guns from the west or the slaves from the east?

-Aroon Che