She was 3 years old, no more. On the street, sitting on the floor on her knees, with red big cheeks. Clothes torn, durty from the head to the feet. A little Roma girl as there are everywhere in the Balkan. Some other kids was all sitting together on the street, speaking to each other, the biggest one carried on the smallest one.
The little roma girl was alone. Alone with her little box in carton: her instrument to work, her box to beg. The box was empty and her eyes were sad. Wind comes, the box fly away, the little girl looks terrified, stand up to reach the box. I catched it. I give it back to her. Fuck, what is this world. I hate myself, to not be abble to do anything for her. I would like to save her, I would like to cry. I give her back the box, her job, look at her eyes, fondle her big red cheek, and leave.
She is probably still in the same street today, even more durty. She is only 3 years old, a little kid, who will probably never go at school, who will probably never do nothing else that to wait for some coins sitting on the street.
How is it acceptable?
Why does she need to have this life?
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