There is some magical, spiritual quality that sparkles in the eyes of a child despite layers of
dusty skin and mismatched, unfitting clothing. Supplicating brown eyes languish through the pains of poverty, clasped hands urge to pray away the ceaseless wars, standing at attention for time immemorial to wait …for something, anything to counter the lack of opportunity for education or what is commonly known in our world as normalcy.
“But what can I do?” His shrill voice strained with a crescendo of annoyance, as if it were a pest he’d rather swat away with a word or two. “..Can’t change the world….”
“No, you can’t,” she whispered slowly with calm resolve, her eyes bowed to the earth. “But you can be aware, feel and know that in every child, a part of you also exists.”