Swat is Weeping

Standing in a queue and waiting for food,
my memories fly back to a small house.
With lush gardens and flowing streams,
My mother's calling for meal,
Playing with my friends and running in the fields.
Here I am lost in my dreams.
Packed in a small roomed is my family waiting for food.
My feet are sour and my limbs weary.
Gone are the gardens and the flowing streams,
the laughter, the gatherings and my little dreams,
gone is the school, the books and bags,
friends and families are now in rags.
Standing in the queue and waiting for food.
Here I am lost in my dreams,
waiting for my mother's calling for meal.