I look at them ... I look at those eyes of children, eyes shining, shining eyes of those who should be able to live long, the eyes of those who should be able to tell a life of a thousand smiles, a thousand games, a thousand satisfactions, many adventures ... I see little bodies of minutes that should be surrounded by a family, heated by a mother.
Eyes that should speak of love.
I see little mouths to feed every day that they should eat a slice of a sweeter world, but between classes and games, remains a bitterly.
You shake hands firmly, looking for you, watching you, hug you, looking in all the ways that contact that probably never had.
But this is a different reality.
Here it grows in the middle of the road.
We grow up with hunger, fear, cold, the naivete of those who do not know what is outside of this country.
Some grow in the knowledge that you were ill, the awareness of being able to die in the event of any delay in taking a medicine. There are those medicines do not even have that.
We grow up fatherless.
Gennaro 4c and Gennaro 5c - I.P.I.A"G.Marconi"
