It’s almost two in the morning here. I have to work early and should be sound asleep.
How can one worry about sleep and getting up early and maybe being a little tired though?
One wonders in the empty hours.
What of life if all life is not precious to all who hold it?
What of life not lived to it’s fullest. Life torn down, torn apart, shattered to pieces daily.
What of life when one must flee their home and live in squalor at a camp set up by people who themselves are beginning to wonder what good?
How does it feel, living under that tent, in the same country where others are sipping cool tea in a modern cafe?
A place with water and food, where one might reasonably assume one could walk out of their home without being raped?
My writing may suck, but the news out of Darfur sucks more.
That I can’t sleep for it is almost a blessing. How such horrors occurs in such a small world is still such a mystery to me. I often think my could explode at the attempt to comprehend it all.
What must their heads feel like?
Or their hearts?
They came, they met, they agreed that more must be done, but a gathering aimed at solving the crisis in Sudan’s Darfur region ended on Monday with little visible progress.