Barefoot and half-dressed children
Dig, stick in hand, through a heap of garbage
To find, under a veiled sun, a little food
Clumped together by flies and the stench of other rot.
Their weathered faces disappear under a thick head of hair
Hiding their big black eyes still full of innocence
Where beads the sorrow mixed with dream and revolt of a childhood
Whose poverty and oblivion have sacrificed the hope of their pure hearts. (…)
Children of the Third World living in a land of misery
Abandoned without a care by the world’s haves
Without education or assistance, what can they hope for?
If not to subsist in spite of themselves in the indifference of their brothers and sisters!
Each time I describe the revolt in my heart
Before so much suffering undergone by children elsewhere
I leave at the end of my pen tears of resentment
With despite everything the hope of believing in a better world…
But years… centuries pass… even eternity….