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World hunger stories the world ignores

Stories and News No. 1016

A recent survey by the International Rescue Committee reveals that 85% of Americans, the richest country in the world’s inhabitants, aren’t aware of millions people literally starving to death among Africa and the Middle East.

We are happy day finders.
A simple one, if you want.
We wake up in the morning with half-eyed eyes and we mix each other between the running hours.
Because, after all, there isn’t so much to see, you know?
Small is the horizon, because that's the screen.

Too much is more than the maximum permitted inches in an average size hand that should lift the world.
It has to be light.
It should be as the air conditioning refreshing face and heart.
Lightweight too.
It should never betrays the intellect, not used to complications.
Lightweight, as well.
We are the worshipers of the surface of things.
Because touching means ever being on the verge of, and watching, soon forgetting.
That's how the skinny, brown child on TV is just a child.
Only one.
One at the most.
Poor, I see.
I'm sorry for him.
Help him, you, over there.
But how can you pretend we visualize the rest?
How could you be so intrusive to claim that we don’t have the number’s perception?
Are you talk about reality criterion?
And what's true more than the image we embrace every day in the mirror?
I thought you'd guessed it by now.
We are the breeders of the flesh.
Smooth and fragrant skin.
Glabrous profile.
Thin waist as empathy remained.
Overflowing mass, most of the time, wanting to be honest.
But the dream remains.
The illusion of getting one day possessed by the divine model is all.
That’s master and slave at the same time of every choice and destination.
Then, let’s buy, hurry up, let’s fill the shopping cart of the bloody fear murdered by the slaughterhouse’s serial killers.
This is how “economic migrant” becomes yet another expression to mark the enemy.
And if hunger and thirst don’t exist beyond the boundaries of our own, full belly.
It means that the enemy is dangerous.
Guilty of his thinness.
Guilty of a scolded face and a disheveled head.
Guilty of clothing noticeable by the long walk.
Lastly, he is guilty of not traveling with an affectionate armchair glued to the ass.
Because that's how we’re waiting to die.
Ignoring life...

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