There are stories of personal kinds;
Hidden in the depths of age-
That flourish with sumptuous rage,
Inside such beautiful minds!
They died with stories untold,
Written in blood splattered pages.
Carved in the history of ages-
Will the inhuman reign unfold.
The blood was ours, that spilled.
A wound on humanity’s skin-
Another scar drawn, unseen.
It was the soul that those bullets killed…
– Shakya Bose
A tribute to the child victims of Peshawar.