What do we forget when we remember that stories are left untold? What do we think each year, day, week, month…?
Millions don’t come home from war. Another hundred million who lived to bear its scar, fear, despair… What they are dying for, and we forget. How stupid we are!
The hurricane winds of war have hurled them as far away as Mars, and they can never go back home again, not really, there is no place where they are missed.
After their terrifying — deadly dance with death, their old world of babies, backyards, dolls, magic fairy tales and childish games seem a distant dream.
People you could see them as brothers and sisters, or your own child before the devastating war to destroy those bright faces and efface their helpless and contagious smiles, but you are so locked up in your smallness world you cannot feel their pain and agony.
It is useless. It is horrifying.
Down thru the dusty centuries, it has always been thus. It always will be, for what is seared into a man’s soul who stands face to face with death never changes.
Words fall like bricks between you, but you cannot see them: you forget we are made of the same stardust from the galaxies, we are universe’s children…♡♡♡
Beatriz Esmer 