Updated: Jan 10
How far can these tiny feet walk? On the land that spews blood Where do these feet stop? Where is home? Is it the land that betrayed them? Is it the land that did not welcome them? Is it the make-shift tent then? Is that their place? No home for humanity?
Stone I walk long for a long-long time Apparently not long enough What is it that we do, I keep asking myself? I have no answers yet. What is it we do? When houses burn? When children despair? All we seem to do is destroy, plunder and uproot profit from pain and suffering The child is crying outside the burning house while a stone statue is built.
Voices in the wind I hear things things that aren’t there – children’s voices. It echoes wherever I go but isn’t there. An illusion, or delusion. Where can voices come from when there are no throats? There are no children but I seem to hear them Their voices, like the wind that carries all the poison we’ve created They keep reminding – you killed the air and it killed us. Display picture by Jordan Whitt