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Don’t ask me why I am silent, I was a child when the sky became foreign and my house remained without voice.
I looked for mom at the door, dad on the road beyond the window, but both remained in a day that never returned.
I still keep them in my eyes, not as war took them, but as they were yesterday: their hands, their voice, a hug that protected me from the world.
Now night seems long to me, because children need a mother to tell them: “Don’t be afraid, I am here.” And I have no one to tell my fear to.
O world, if you still have a heart, don’t teach children to know war before they know peace.
Don’t leave children the only inheritance photos of parents.
Leave them a house, a morning, a school, a toy, and above all — a sky where a child can raise his eyes without fear.
Because children of Yemen were not born for war. They were born to say: Mom. Dad. I want to live.

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