Send the fire

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Op de website van send the fire (http://www.sendthefire.ca) vond ik het gedicht ‘Dear Poverty’. The organisatie Send the fire heeft in haar visie haar droom verwoord:

• be a catalyst & hub for our younger generation to be connected in community, formed spiritually and inspired to action.
• spark a wildfire of young people leading the way in society in terms of their passion for life, faith and making a difference in the lives of others locally & globally.

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Een mooi streven en het gedicht wordt dan ook geïntroduceerd door de volgende woorden:

At SendTheFire we love the beauty of poetry. Words are like art. Carefully crafted like in poetry they paint a beautiful picture.

Here’s some word art (poetry) that we came across recently that we thought you’d enjoy. As you read the words and engage fully with your mind and emotions, it will speak to you.

Read, reflect then leave a comment below about the picture these words painted for you or the thoughts and emotions they stirred up.

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Dear Poverty

My name is hopelessness

But you can call me misery, despair, depression or any other term that pops up when you Press shift F7 on your pc while writing your paper about Darfur, Congo, Xinjiang, Chechnya or… Port-au-Prince from your climate controlled classroom far, far away from me.

I live in the foundations of fallen buildings,
in the cracks of concrete, and just left of the air pockets
under the rubble.

Reside in the front of supply trucks
after all the pallets have been removed,
and the empty space under the parachute
where the helicopter supposedly dropped more food.

I love the bottoms of bottles of water,
formula, canned and baby food
and whisper there’s not enough to families,
and say to aid workers, there’s nothing you can do.

I love the phrases irreconcilable differences
and hang out at negotiation table in NGO’s board rooms
and come up with conflicts of interest and difference of opinion.
All you can see is me when you can’t see a way out.
And if I hang out long enough my family comes around.

My brother is poverty and my cousin is exploitation
And when the sky stops raining or the earths quits shaking
they are sending pimps to find sex slaves
and johns to exchange services for donations
Traffickers snatch up victims, taken for slave labor.

I inhabit that space in your brain
that makes your question your donation
the con artists are my kin because
they capitalize on these situations.

I will be here

long after the Washington Post and the New York Times.
Long after I’m not mentioned in the headlines.

Still here.

when NBC and CNN are gone
and Anderson Cooper’s chopper has lifted off.

I’ll be here.

Until you come and chase me away
but based on history,
me and my family have no reason to be afraid.

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