a memory flashes here and there,
his family on a wall lined up and killed
like lambs no one did understand
what their blood for, was spilled,
but I doubt the boy still recollects;
Oh no! I know what I’m here for—
I saw the purpose in his small brain—
like all these soldiers who died in vain,
the boy’s mind was thinking of but one thing—
like all of us, the boy was only playing a game.
Identity is collection of poems about who we are and what we might find if we really look inside and mean to learn and face whatever we find.
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