His tears carve rivers on his face,
yet he clings to the only truth he knows
a mother’s breast,
the ancient well of survival.
The world may rage with famine,
the sun may be merciless in its hunger,
but this child has already learned
that love is not spoken it is fed.
His small hands tremble,
nails pressed into skin,
as though anchoring himself
to the last safe harbor in existence.
In his eyes, you see it all...
the grief of nations,
the hunger of centuries,
the hope that refuses to die.
For every tear that falls
is a silent scripture
teaching us that survival
is not just the absence of death,
but the presence of someone who cares enough to keep you alive.
U
His tears carve rivers on his face, yet he clings to the only truth he knows a…
