It is a quest for the missing children. The children who are shouting out to be found and rescued. The same children in need of a mother’s tender love and care, some never having the satisfaction of ever being lain down carefully on a bed, wrapped in a warm blanket. Born to a mother who stopped caring and a land that never cared. Blaming customs, rituals and traditions, the feminity of the unborn child already a curse to society. Abortions being the deed of the day, in a country taken over by corrupt men and indifferent women.
In a country, where people say, is not a place for poor children, they lie waiting for someone to notice. Notice their inconsequential existence, their hopelessness and their dead eyes. A childhood lost of fun and frolic, instead subjected to the labor and daily wage earning. Dreams of sleeping with a teddy bear, on a bed and listening to their mother’s stories, all gone.
They sleep on the footpath in front of extravagant buildings, where children are blessed with the love and care of parents. Those children who get to sit in cars while these missing children waiting for a single penny. All of the pennies put together to buy a piece of bread so their stomachs would be relieved for just some time.
We talk about these children yet we never look at them or show some care. We shoo them away, call them names, and say they are pests. But do we ever really stop to think if they might also deserve a chance to live? However they might choose to, we believe we deserve the right to say how others should spend their money and live the right way. We are completely inhumane, in this world of death and misery, yet we believe we have the perfect lives. Never have we believed in the system of touch. A touch is a transmitting disease, it makes other people touch. Not in a seemingly disgusting way, but a gentle kindness that seems to trickle along.
This is our world and welcome to it. Where mothers abandon infants and fathers rape daughters, where a child born to low society is not a human being but filthy beings who deserve to be fed insecticides and killed off. We live in a country where the freedom of a chosen few is within the parameters of being called freedom at all.
In a country breaking apart from political misdeeds and religious strife, the missing children have nowhere to hide. They try to wave their arms so that we notice but the gentle lives are shut out so no one can be blamed. In their small worlds, they have to make do with sleeping under the stars each night, watching their parents die from the cold but they cannot do anything. The gentle apathy to sadness and heartbreak slowly turns into a monstrous rage, which engulfs the lives of many more.
It is a quest to find those missing children, who could have one day helped themselves or their land, but are now sitting in a corner, wishing they had someone to care about them. They are our missing children and we have to find them before they run away.