Poverty
The break of dawn signaled the breaking of the daily fast. An unwelcome light stung his eyes in an upclass suite in downtown Manhattan. He drew the the blinds and prepared himself for the harsh city.
A dusty gust broke her sleep while the morning sun casted a warm orange over a closed eyes. She roused in a dusty backstreet over downtown Darfur. She looked for her cardboard she found to prepare for a harsh day ahead after a harsh cold of the night. She discovered that a little boy beside her took it and was sound asleep laying on it. Three boys laid in disarray few metres from her. She looked in eyes discerned.
He strode into his office scouring his battlefield. He called his soldiers in to prepare a day in battle. Millions of dollars were at stake and he looked on in astute while his lieutenants stode in. A battle begins.
A machanical rattle came from a far. Sounds all too familiar but did not render fear yet. Yet an overwhelming hurt swept through her. The boys were aroused from their sleep. This is another day for running. The lieuenants and his men are coming with guns blazing. It's another day of killing in the battlefield. The little boy laid asleep.
He fought the battle with such vivacity. His lieutenants carried out his order perfectly. Nothing satisfy him than a perfect execution. The dollars poured in. He let out his grin.
A bomb exploded 10 metres in front of her. The screamings of people burning from within resounded with fierce familiarity to her. The day her father was burned to death while her surviving mother was chopped to death by the fearsome machete of the lieutenants' soldiers. Stroke by stroke while she watched in her hiding, the woman who beared her cut opened. A perfect plan executed by the lieutenants' men. She closed her eyes but she saw perfectly. The little boy stirred. "He could not have been five".
He celebrated a successful day of battle. "A beautiful day", he thought as he walked towards his state-of-the-art car. A torn man sat beside his car and asked for a dime for a wam night in the shelters. He brushed the man away, got into his car and signaled his driver to drive off. To his most fancy restaurant. Where he will celebrate with fine wine and dinner.
She poured over the rubbish bin for a sign of food. Ragged children ravaged and ran like rats looking for food. She found a piece of moulded bread with a stroke of luck. She carried it off under her shirt and ran away. Death be with her if she's found with the bread. She ran back to her hidout and found the little boy crying. "He have not had a meal for days", she thought. She took out the bread and gave it to the boy. She smiled while she watched him gobbled down the bread.
Are we in poverty?
A dusty gust broke her sleep while the morning sun casted a warm orange over a closed eyes. She roused in a dusty backstreet over downtown Darfur. She looked for her cardboard she found to prepare for a harsh day ahead after a harsh cold of the night. She discovered that a little boy beside her took it and was sound asleep laying on it. Three boys laid in disarray few metres from her. She looked in eyes discerned.
He strode into his office scouring his battlefield. He called his soldiers in to prepare a day in battle. Millions of dollars were at stake and he looked on in astute while his lieutenants stode in. A battle begins.
A machanical rattle came from a far. Sounds all too familiar but did not render fear yet. Yet an overwhelming hurt swept through her. The boys were aroused from their sleep. This is another day for running. The lieuenants and his men are coming with guns blazing. It's another day of killing in the battlefield. The little boy laid asleep.
He fought the battle with such vivacity. His lieutenants carried out his order perfectly. Nothing satisfy him than a perfect execution. The dollars poured in. He let out his grin.
A bomb exploded 10 metres in front of her. The screamings of people burning from within resounded with fierce familiarity to her. The day her father was burned to death while her surviving mother was chopped to death by the fearsome machete of the lieutenants' soldiers. Stroke by stroke while she watched in her hiding, the woman who beared her cut opened. A perfect plan executed by the lieutenants' men. She closed her eyes but she saw perfectly. The little boy stirred. "He could not have been five".
He celebrated a successful day of battle. "A beautiful day", he thought as he walked towards his state-of-the-art car. A torn man sat beside his car and asked for a dime for a wam night in the shelters. He brushed the man away, got into his car and signaled his driver to drive off. To his most fancy restaurant. Where he will celebrate with fine wine and dinner.
She poured over the rubbish bin for a sign of food. Ragged children ravaged and ran like rats looking for food. She found a piece of moulded bread with a stroke of luck. She carried it off under her shirt and ran away. Death be with her if she's found with the bread. She ran back to her hidout and found the little boy crying. "He have not had a meal for days", she thought. She took out the bread and gave it to the boy. She smiled while she watched him gobbled down the bread.
Are we in poverty?
posted by Long at 6:33 AM
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