.
Take the hands of this
child.
He has opened his hands.
Show him the street.
He looks all around.
He is there. He is aware of everything with his hand,
legs, eyes and ears, he hears you under the collapsed
ruins, he responds to draw your attention. He is in the
bosom of his mother and cries besides her death. Screams.
Now turn him.
He is eating a chocolate, quite.
Tell him the names of all the things.
He is looking and saying nothing.
Tell him about yourself.
He turns his head. He has finished his chocolate, and
now he is
looking at his brown hands. This is not your
child. Your heart is deceived in being like a mother.
If he didn't try today, he will do tomorrow, for sure,
or maybe after an hour.
It is like the sun in the sky. It
seems that the voice of death is ahead of you. You
cannot get him. The child looks at a dangling doll on
his shirt and he cries at last.
Shake it with the finger.
He looks at you.
Shake it with the finger.
You show him the cars.
But his crying never ends.
If you search more, you will find a big tie under the
stones. And the stones are put together like a hill of
sand. Like a small hill of your childhood, you were
climbing and showing your achievements by rising your
hands.
Now you remember.
You should speak him.
Tell a story.
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful sea without
any waves and she looked after the children. One day, a
group arrived and looked at the sea and the children
sadly. And said, "You should
not play in the sea more."
They all said, "Why?"
They said, "This water is dangerous, deceives the
children. The sea should have waves. She
drowns the children, with these acts."
The children went to the sea no more.
Since then, the sea is wavy. And the sea is furious and revenges both
children and grown-ups. That sea is sad and still furious.
You are happy.
You are so happy to tell another story.
But the child is crying.
The child is upset. This bothers you. And erase the
childhood from your memory. You do not remember your childhood.
You are eager to know.
An unknown child is in your lap.
But the answer is never.
A never heavy is your hands.
.
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