The young weep and mourn at the ache of their souls
The mothers scream at the face of despair
The rivers run muddy and infested
The food lay scarce and of great demand
Though cries reach out, the world hears but silence
The young cling to the breasts of their mothers
The mother's work to give what they can
The village hold on hand in hand
The community braces against adversity, holding on to what they have
The children lay weak, nothing but skin and bones
Though their souls reach, the world feels nothing
The young run and play with joy deep in their souls
The mothers send their children to the villages for the search of food and activities
The soil lay dry, spread level as the children chase balls and skip around
The culture runs deep throughout the village and the love warms the people at night
Though the support bonds the people, the world stays unaware
It seems like when I was much younger there was more attention paid to the plight of the hungry and hopeless people you describe here--I guess we've moved on to other problems or just chosen to ignore them. I like that you've put your interpretations into poetry here; it adds such a softness that makes the message even more heart-breaking. I especially like this line: "The culture runs deep throughout the village and the love warms the people at night."
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