The Little Village with No Light

May 6, 2012
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There is little light in this tiny desert village in the far reaches of this lonesome nation. Whether it be nourishment for its physical or emotional world, the resources to sustain that nourishment have all been depleted – depleted by the grotesque coalition of thugs and warlords that dares call itself a government.

Many years ago, when the harvests were plentiful and water flowed unhindered in the nearby river, the light was bright and villagers sought to reap the rewards of their labors. That only lasted until they were reminded of their second-class status, squeezed into an airless cellar of muteness by the mobsters who rounded up their food supply and fed it to the gluttonous, jewel-encrusted mouths of the corrupt governmental elite.

As if those villagers, and their counterparts around the country, did not exist, the warlords and gangsters filled their coffers to the brims with stolen food and animals and other precious natural resources. As the country’s poorest families struggled to survive off of minute amounts of whatever edible material nature threw at them, the “government” devised new plans to take that material away. Whatever light that began to glow in this everlasting darkness was blown out by the corrupt winds blowing in straight from the capital.

Undoubtedly, the thieves and bandits who wielded power dirtied their hands with whatever they could find to steal – there was not a beggar in the land that their fingers did not meddle with. Yet, somehow, a small spark of goodness once made its home among the forest of repression, a trickle of light that fled as the germs of dishonesty proceeded with their invasion.

The light, incompatible with the darkness of the halls of government, manifests itself from time to time: when it does, it is a celebration, though during its manifestations it is only visible to the poorest of the poor. They are the ones who, at these times, have true reason to celebrate. To the unscrupulous elite these occasions are considered as an annoyance – as an infestation of scrap metal in a room clearly destined for the finest of gold. To those whose consciences are untainted enough to be able to recognize light, these occasions stand out from the monotonous darkness. These occasions are the birth of children. Their cries in the barren desert landscape remind the victimized villagers that there is one thing that cannot be taken away by bandits – the unhindered joy of new life.

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