Stories and News No. 860
There was an explosion.
A loud bang, you should have listened.
You might still feel the echo and I have no idea how much longer the waves caused by yet another emptiness will travel.
But they are not like those created by little stones thrown into the water, or worse, by a tsunami that hits the headlines only when a rich towel was found on the beach.
These vibrations are desperately looking for a home.
Memory, words.
At best, normal empathy.
That's why you still feel it, if you pay attention with that kind of underestimated ear protruding from heart.
Because home, memory, words, normal empathy, they never found them.
There was an explosion, I told you.
And, what interests you most, there are also the dead.
The injured.
And the missing ones.
All the usual story, or the book that comes out when the writer is called death and the publishers, well... the publishers are us. Even if we used to think of being just impotent readers.
I also have photos, if you wish. And I know that you want it, because the common eye seeks peace from the flowing red necessarily far and from reassuring shapes of black that must be bad for sure. It is an indispensable cliché, calming our fears with the misfortunes of others and diluting consciences with purifying solutions, screaming at the evil character in the monitor.
Nevertheless, there was an explosion and speaking about is right.
Because the ground has been cleared.
And life has been savaged where it is more helpless.
Ordinary people.
The unsuspecting passerby.
The innocent lives that at any point of the globe are chosen by the disastrous finger.
It is not a fortuitous event, there is always a drawing, where someone stop breathing to fill the born with a caul bellies of air and privileges.
But it is only by chance that you were born here and they there.
Remember, start always from this precious opening words.
Because there was an explosion.
And what do you usually expect happened.
But not all that you think.
That's why I will not tell you where the bomb has killed, what nationality the dead were and what gods they entrusted their prayers to.
So you will not be able to say of being not so particularly touched about people far from you.
Because everyone of us could be far and near.
You choose that.
It’s up to you the choice to be near or far.
To human beings...
Read more human rights stories
Buy my latest book The hoax of the migrants
Listen my song Wolves
Storytelling videos with subtitles
More on Stories and News:
There was an explosion.A loud bang, you should have listened.
You might still feel the echo and I have no idea how much longer the waves caused by yet another emptiness will travel.
But they are not like those created by little stones thrown into the water, or worse, by a tsunami that hits the headlines only when a rich towel was found on the beach.
These vibrations are desperately looking for a home.
Memory, words.
At best, normal empathy.
That's why you still feel it, if you pay attention with that kind of underestimated ear protruding from heart.
Because home, memory, words, normal empathy, they never found them.
There was an explosion, I told you.
And, what interests you most, there are also the dead.
The injured.
And the missing ones.
All the usual story, or the book that comes out when the writer is called death and the publishers, well... the publishers are us. Even if we used to think of being just impotent readers.
I also have photos, if you wish. And I know that you want it, because the common eye seeks peace from the flowing red necessarily far and from reassuring shapes of black that must be bad for sure. It is an indispensable cliché, calming our fears with the misfortunes of others and diluting consciences with purifying solutions, screaming at the evil character in the monitor.
Nevertheless, there was an explosion and speaking about is right.
Because the ground has been cleared.
And life has been savaged where it is more helpless.
Ordinary people.
The unsuspecting passerby.
The innocent lives that at any point of the globe are chosen by the disastrous finger.
It is not a fortuitous event, there is always a drawing, where someone stop breathing to fill the born with a caul bellies of air and privileges.
But it is only by chance that you were born here and they there.
Remember, start always from this precious opening words.
Because there was an explosion.
And what do you usually expect happened.
But not all that you think.
That's why I will not tell you where the bomb has killed, what nationality the dead were and what gods they entrusted their prayers to.
So you will not be able to say of being not so particularly touched about people far from you.
Because everyone of us could be far and near.
You choose that.
It’s up to you the choice to be near or far.
To human beings...
Read more human rights stories
Buy my latest book The hoax of the migrants
Listen my song Wolves
Storytelling videos with subtitles
More on Stories and News: