As a young boy I look around me, I smell the stench of death on my skin.
I am in the midst of a cyclical genocide the world has forgotten.
My feet are the only means of rescue to carry me far away from this horror. My familys fortune is bankrupt. The randomness of death has chosen them.
Now all alone, I ask myself if the world will help us, has it forgotten?Feeding the nations of the rich is easy, feeding and helping the poor is a burden. Believing we can learn lessons from history is a failing matter.History repeats itself, genocides will continue, as long as our memories can never forget.
We are the lost souls of the living. Only a second, attention of the media puts a spotlight on our plight. After the moment passes, my life continues as the world moves on. No country, no home, no family to call my own. Has the world forgotten the lost souls of the living?
Toto Salva – All rights reserved by the Author.
(Written ~ December 24th, 2006 at 4:30pm)