We die slowly.
Our mothers bring scraps, our fathers weep. For us, the politicians come making speeches; they declare what is right and what is wrong. They call for money, always more money. We watch and are subdued, as they cry out, with fists of rage to wave at injustice.
From where we lay, collapsed into the earth, we see a world like ash. Dust blows over us and we close our eyes. At the last, each of us is alone.
Yet together we are millions, hungry and quiet. Is this the wasteland? Is this the promised heaven?
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