My Bulldozed Home Poem by Mohammad Muzzammil

I woke to thunder, not from the sky,
But machines that roared as my world went by,
My walls, my corner, my crayons' bright scrawl,
All crushed to dust, I can't find them at all.

Mama's hands shake, her voice is low,
Papa stares far, where do we go?
My swing, my laughter, my hiding tree,
Torn to the ground, no longer free.

The dust chokes tight, it burns my eyes,
My doll's lost arm, my heart's soft cries,
This was my place, my safe, warm glow,
Now just a wreck where cold winds blow.

They say we're wrong to live right here,
But where's my bedtime, my dreams so dear?
I'm just a kid, with a tiny small voice,
But my home's in pieces, I've no other choice.

The bulldozers growl, they don't see me,
A child left bare, where my home used to be,
Will someone listen, hold my small hand?
Or leave me lost in this broken land?