A World Fit For Children Begs For Your Compassion

There was a little girl with a baby on her hip that was most definitely my teacher in India.  It was a moment when I had just visited a Gandhian university and a teacher was organising a bike so I could get to the train.  The traffic was full on and it had been pouring with rain. The little girl with the baby came up begging.  I said ‘no’ as the catch cry is to not give to beggars as they will keep asking and there is endless need.  I stood there deeply observing at the time, I saw the mother at a distance and I did judge her as I wondered how she could use little children to beg. How heavy the baby was on her hip, and so young.  But of course she had to.  It was a life I had no experience of nor understanding.  I was aware of my ignorance in that moment but it was a pivotal moment for me.  I am glad the moment happened as it has stayed with me to remind me that I am responsible for the shape of my world.  If my dream comes true peace education will become the norm and we will never again live like we are separate, but start to see in every face ourselves.  This is what it means to be family.   To serve each person as you would serve yourself.

I was inspired by the story of two orphan children in Turkey.  This is the poem I felt inspired to write.

My compassion becomes deep and wide as an ocean encompassing every face and as each wave rises hope for a better future emerges for a world fit for children.

 

A WORLD FIT FOR CHILDREN BEGS FOR YOUR COMPASSION

 

I am sleeping in the cocoon of my parents love,

Driving home the hum of the car rocks me to sleep,

Secure and safe,

Loved and embraced,

Innocent of the world of fate,

I hear the car gently come to a standstill,

Are we home?

I open my eyes and see lights in the darkness,

I see men around our car who are they?

They are asking questions of my father,

My mother looks back to say it is all right sit tight,

My father gets out to check the light and tyre,

Shot on the spot with gunfire,

My mother screams,

A bullet to the head,

And they are gone,

The window of my life shatters into a million pieces,

My peace died my breath ceases,

My world crumbles,

As the shadows grow,

On walls without a home,

Death looms larger than life,

As family is the mirage,

Of the after life.

 

My brother and the baby,

We cry,

There is no sky,

It has fallen in,

Stunned by the fire fight,

I become mama and papa,

Head of the family,

As the baby screams for mama’s voice,

We are left?

What is right?

We have no choice,

We have no voice,

In a world unfit for children.

 

My aunty comes and goes,

Leaving for 3 days never to return,

The baby is crying,

The baby is hungry,

I rock her back and forth,

I talk to her to tell her I love her
all day and all night,

I hold her tight,

She is hot with fever,

There is no water to cool her down,

There is no money for medicine,

Not charity in blindness,
No kindness opens its door,

She sleeps to never awaken,

I scream what for?

 

No money,

No food,

No rent,

Our new home the landlord throws into the street,

The dust,

The dirt,

The cars,

Food smells,

Rubbish bins overflowing,

Dogs are better fed,

Our parents fade from our memory,

Yet our hearts cry in every heart beat,

Poverty is the shoeless soul,

That feels every rock on the path,

That is holy but not purified by true love,

Hungering for love is the empty stomach,

Hungering for safety is the house with no walls,

Desperate for a piece of bread steals life with every ache,

Keep walking until we find some throw away cake.

 

A new friend,

A shard of light breaks from the stormy clouds,

She teaches us to sell to pull us out of hell,

She teaches us the street is our market place,

Our power is in self help,

To not give up,

To pester to annoy to trick,

For each coin is the lottery of life,

Tissues, lighters, stake knives, odds and ends,

A means to an end,

In the end nothing means anything,

As people brush us off like flies,

They’re talking on mobile phones

cut off from the real world living at their feet,

With well-heeled shoes and clean feet,

They have no holy soul for they don’t feel the path,

No-one knows the dead-end life,

Where shelter is nestled at the end of a stinking alley,

As bottles smash and drunks crash in a relay,

Fighting over space we can ill afford,

I could be dead in the end,

No life
sends you around the bend,

Survival is one square meal,

Street wise is the lie we all feel,

We are only children we have to steal,

It feels a waking nightmare yet it is painfully real,

We only know the value of a piece of bread,

And this is the only slice of heaven,

That is sweeter than sleep.

 

I am the poet that watched your story from afar,

That walked passed,

That never knew your suffering,

For it seemed surreal,

As my world was well fed,

Unable to capture this crime of many centuries,

That tolerates poverty as a street scape,

To find escape is only compassion,

To give every last penny,

Rationing life for the many by the few,

For how can any life be so cheap?

Why is love such a scarce commodity?

What happened to community?

To common unity?

To family?

To friends?

To interested bystanders noticing the need?

A duty of care by every human being,

Yet detached greed is on the phone and distracted,

Not my problem is the catch cry!

Yet I feel the shard of light brightening my world,

Illuminating new words,

That I am my brother and sisters keeper,

I am responsible for the state of this world,

And children cannot pre-serve the future,

If they are hungry, scared and homeless,

We are the stewards and care-givers not care-takers,

And every child is you,

And when you stand in their shoes,

You become every child,

And ignorance is not bliss
as the tyrant remains in the shadows careless,

And good people choose to do nothing.