August 14, 2009 § 3 Comments

Look, look at him as he walks by. Can’t you see? His brown torn rags make him stand out from the others. There is a look in his eye that speaks volumes. A look that makes one forget their troubles. His old over-worked hands connect with that of a child. A young beautiful child. But oh! Look at his eyes, such sorrow. Such sadness. A young beauty in a harsh World.

They walk from city… walking, walking. Miles. Until they reach their little patched hut. A hut made of straw, of soil. A momentary smile lights up the childs face as he rushes in to greet his mother. But the man? His eyes do not change. The pain and the troubles exist. No smile softens his old creased face as he stands outside his little patched hut thinking…

… how will he feed his family tomorrow?


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