Looking at a photograph of a child born in this tragedy:
no-one cares that a vulture stares – this is not human.
A mother gave all she could give but this tiny child has her outlived,
and lies alone with nothing but the beads around her neck.
How can there be such extremes –
we who take more than we need,
and the ones whose lives we just ignore
living far away from our front door
in their poverty and war, like this child of Darfur?
It would be a miracle if the rains would come,
but it’s not the sound of thunder – it’s just the distant guns.
And far away we watch TV, shake our heads and click our tongues;
we change the channel and justify why it’s them and it’s not us.
How can there be such extremes –
we who take more than we need,
and the ones whose lives we just ignore
living far away from our front door
in their poverty and war, like this child of Darfur?
With her hands held to her head, the sun above, the sand her bed;
why must she know about starvation, war, and being alone?
How much more can people take before their bodies and minds break,
before all hope is gone and the human spirit leaves the face?
New clothes, new cars, new homes, new TV’s –
do we consume and live by greed, accumulating and wasting?
no-one cares that a vulture stares – this is not human.
A mother gave all she could give but this tiny child has her outlived,
and lies alone with nothing but the beads around her neck.
How can there be such extremes –
we who take more than we need,
and the ones whose lives we just ignore
living far away from our front door
in their poverty and war, like this child of Darfur?
It would be a miracle if the rains would come,
but it’s not the sound of thunder – it’s just the distant guns.
And far away we watch TV, shake our heads and click our tongues;
we change the channel and justify why it’s them and it’s not us.
How can there be such extremes –
we who take more than we need,
and the ones whose lives we just ignore
living far away from our front door
in their poverty and war, like this child of Darfur?
With her hands held to her head, the sun above, the sand her bed;
why must she know about starvation, war, and being alone?
How much more can people take before their bodies and minds break,
before all hope is gone and the human spirit leaves the face?
New clothes, new cars, new homes, new TV’s –
do we consume and live by greed, accumulating and wasting?
Contributed by Dq82 - 2020/3/25 - 17:22
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Wild Horse Running Free
(words & music by Nicolette Aubourg © 2012)
written in response to a photograph taken in 1993 by the late photojournalist Kevin Carter of a starving little girl in Sudan
Haunted by the horrific images from Sudan, Carter committed suicide in 1994 soon after receiving the award.