I chanced upon this heartbreaking poem here when looking for children’s literature in Urdu. The barefoot child is hurrying along, her small wrist grasped firmly by a uniformed (probably American) soldier’s hand. She is holding a bundle high–she is small, so she is trying to hold it up so it doesn’t touch the ground.
I got this Eid gift from Uncle Soldier.
How nice they are,
these uncles of mine.
They gave me food
they gave me toys
they gave me Eid money
But they say, “Papa will not come”
And that I’ll never see Big Brother again
and that I’ll never go back to my village again
You don’t listen to
anything I say
Papa doesn’t come, and Brother isn’t here.
These clothes that the Uncles gave me
who shall I wear them and show them to?
How shall I celebrate this Eid?
(By Muhammad Ajmal Anjum, translated by myself)