I carry all my posts and my daily transient viewers. The building I live in. The warm and the people. And the street that I swear I will write about is a hundred stories and a story, the seller of soft pancakes and a clean cleaner. I wish to write a beautiful story of the dreams of the inhabitants of the neighborhood. But I will write today and specifically.
About a strange child is the symbol of the neighborhood and its ...,
At the turning point of our old little boy, the ground is scattered
And he clenched his shoes to cover himself in a deep sleep.
This innocent child did not hide the darkness day and did not increase the brutality
Only to hate himself. His long hair drooping over his eyebrows
And his wide clothes made him look older than two years old. He was dying and he was sitting at the turn of the century. Everything in him, cats and dogs, darkness and stones. One day he put his head on the threshold of the turn. He heard a voice calling from a distant voice is not strange to him. He jumped up like a little boy
He began to remember this voice as long as he heard him dreaming during his long nap. He was a light, thin voice that did not hear among the voices of people like him.
He is addressing him ... .. It is not a dream it is a fact
DNA of sound .... The ghost of a woman.
Wicked eyes and good eyes .... But he did not see anything
But these words remained ringing in his ears ............ .. (My beloved son sleeps on the road) Weeping and shouting in tears to scream at the balcony of my house to decide to go in the morning and ask about
His condition and what saddens him. Indeed, the features of light
I went to him
I asked him who you are?
He did not answer me. I asked another question
Where did you come from?
He said: "I came from a very distant town from here."
where is your father ?
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My father went to war four years ago and disappeared after that and we asked him about it, but we did not find any traces of it.
When I finished I asked him. What is your family?
He said: My mother was working in a sewing workshop to insure us for a living and on her way to work, she was hit by a speeding truck. She passed away and separated me and my only sister after my mother died directly to avoid dying hungry.
I came out of the corner and I say to myself (Oh my God how to laugh and the displaced are still dying
But do not just do so, but put on their bodies oil pipelines to secure the warmth of our enemies)
However, I still dream of a society in which the poor can not be ashamed of poverty, but the rich are ashamed to boast of their luxury ... .., Theend
