MOTHERandCHILDREN

So..I am gazing into the eyes of a dirty, poverty-stricken mother whom I feel great connection with for her filth, her downfall, her own depression amidst the combination of so many. Her children's faces are obscured as their heads tucked upon her shoulders are turned the opposite direction. The dirt in their hair shines as a trophy for what they have thus endured, yet also as a burden, an omen for what is to come. And what approaches but doom! Their images scream for help, relief from the coming suffering! But the mother's lips are silent as they have come to accept the fate of loss. Her brow is furrowed with doubt and anxiety for the sake of her children, but her eyes are soft with weariness. Wrinkles smother her tired skin, taught with the want to release her children from their Hell, to relinquish her every particle of self and effort for them to be rescued from the dawning of hopelessness! Dirt embraces the hands and necks of her children as loss clings upon their innocent souls, and she is incapable of providing them aid. Incapable of destroying the beasts that cradle them and shall not hesitate to clutch every moment of their future! How petrifying the inevitable death of hope, which is to perish in the brutal flames of unfairness.