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And The Children Die – A Poem about the Suffering Child

Feeling overwhelmed by the suffering children on this planet, I needed to write the poem below.

I find myself thinking more and more about the child tucked under their covers in fear, without love, without nourishment, without hope, and, like you, I’m devastated. I get that “ache” in my stomach, the one where you wonder how it can be that some have to suffer so much, while others thrive. It can be a helpless feeling.

Quite frankly, this kind of pain suffered by the most innocent, sometimes makes me feel ashamed to be part of the human race.

Decades ago, I Wrote the above Paragraph and the Poem ‘And the Children Die’ – With Age has Come Wisdom – Here’s what I’ve figured out since then:

Having written this poem many years ago, my perspective has evolved to see the world as a vast global school where we all play the roles of both student and teacher. Through hardship, we gain insights into compassion, kindness, endurance, and, ideally, tolerance.

It seems that every facet of life, even the challenging ones, serves as a lesson. Despite the difficulties we face on our earthly journey, each of us has a purpose, and that purpose is to contribute to the greater good. No matter our plight during this human journey, each of us serves a purpose … and our purpose is to serve.

We find ourselves in a continuous cycle of learning, drawing lessons from all aspects of life, even the unpleasant ones. In this grand classroom, we all take on the dual roles of both teaching and learning, aiming to advance our souls. The only thing that makes sense to me is this …. “Those who suffer the most teach us the most.”

An Original Poem:

“And The Children Die”

Now I understand, Now I know,

Older and wiser
I understand with pain in my stomach
The suffering of a child
I have lived to learn how unforgivable it is
to stand by while they die

A life-like box in my living room tells me stories
Of babies who have no more tears to cry
Their blank stares begging for nothing
Their frail bodies exposed to us as evidence
As humanity sits by helpless, I Cry
What do I do while they die?

Am I an unwitting participant in this Me game?
Or worse, is it knowingly?
Am I forgiven because I cry?
Or do I close the light at night and know that
absolution will never be gifted to the human race
until we take each other’s hands as one people
united in our common goal,
making decisions advocating compassion,
above Everything

How do we find our way
While they die
Am I getting wiser or just older?
My heart aches for the children
So I try to help one
But it’s not enough for me
We need leaders who will choose to save the children
We need countries caring about their suffering people
But it is easier to build weapons
Hold my hand while we cry
And the children die

By Barbara Tremblay Cipak

Note: Featured Poem is called tolerance, also written by me

A book of 50 Years of Poetry, Where You’ll Also Find The Above Poem, Available on Amazon:

We Will Have Morning Smiles - 50 Years of Original Poetry


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