the Little Trader

i looked into his hungry eyes

and saw the curse.

the curse his grand parents passed down to his parents

and his parents to him

i saw his dusty swarthy skin,

and his scarred finger weaving straws beside his sleeping sister

i fought the urge to question him,

to ask where his mother was

was she thinking about them?

i looked into his eyes

and saw his world,

how primal and scarred it was.

i will never forget his feeble voice

when he asked what i wanted.

how his hands were

when i gave him the money.

how desperately happy he was

that he has sold a bottle of coke

to a stranger..

 

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