The child shook and cried – as his emaciated body fought the knowledge
of a fever that choked the breath of his father and captured his mother‘s
before oxygen came that can’t be given, because it is held in a place where
the faces of the well smile as they selfishly return to a normality that is
their’s but not his.
Not far distant a farmer loads his cart for marketing his hard worked
goods to sell in a place where covid is thriving and so thinking people
have learned to stay at home. And now his goods will rot and his own
wife and children will die from starvation while somewhere a nation
heals but not his.
At a port there are ships that wait for a call that will free them to
travel home to their loved ones, but for now they wait, alone and
lonely, deprived of human contact that comforts. Their thoughts
turn to suicide and depression, while not far vaccinated sailors
sail easily but not them.
The world has a centre which turns with us, and together we are
all held in thrall by its core giving us life and gravity; but human
hearts refuse to hear that we belong as one people,
but instead we have those who choose to
take and those who can’t.
Some choose which hat, they choose which putrid water.
Some opt for a take away, they opt for what is thrown away.
Some prefer designer clothes and some wear passed on rags.
Some live in clean and tidy homes and others on the street.
A choice is a voice from opulence and should give others
a chance to have voices and make choices.