The Matador

He glanced at me
with his sad hazel eyes
With blood drooping
on his forehead
And remains of a greasy,
dry and sandy hair
He looked at me
from top to bottom
Calm, serene, cold and sad looks
Looks of a wise man
who has seen all
His mouth was dry
and bleeding
He was thrown on the ground
With no energy to move
and stand up
Very thin legs with no shoes
Flies resting on his wounds
with no bandage
A little piece of cloth
covering his belly
His ribs almost showing
under the skin
As he breathes slightly
and slowly His arms
almost non-existent
So weak he could
not put them together
He stared at me
without moving
His eyes said the entire story
The story of being in the wrong place
At the wrong time
for the wrong purpose
Falling a victim in a world
he never chose
A world that promised
rainbows and sunshine
And could not grant him food,
water and shelter
His family was killed in mobs
sweeping the streets
And all is left is the remains of a house
A shelter he once lived
in with his mother
A small neighborhood
he used to play in
All in the name of freedom
and liberation
That only brought him starvation and pain
Our eyes met and I wished I could answer him
Explain to a child why he was there
Yet, all he needed was not love or political stand
He needed food, shelter,
water and a hospital
I walked away with millions of people
Turned my back to a child's cry for help
A child who was not part of a war
But who had to pay the price
Without ever knowing why or what for.