Dead children

(...)and in the streets children's blood 

 flowed simply, as children's blood.

Pablo Neruda

In Venezuela the children are being killed. In Venezuela a boy kneels down in front of a governor's house, his chest is stained with his little brother's blood. Death has lead us into a state of siege, it's all around us, is haunting us, is waiting for us around every corner. The children get out of their homes and will never come back. The sons are dying, the friends, the brothers, the classmates are dying. They're being murdered. Venezuela is a slaughterhouse. Devastation succeeds. Each and every one of these dead children of ours is one of those "strikes from the hatred of god"(Vallejo). This mourning never ends. The killers are children themselves. The children are killing children.

Geraldina Mendez