We have ONE Planet, but TWO Worlds
The ´Haves´and the ´Have Nots´.
As I watch my t.v.screen, I love the wondrous sight.
High in the sky, fireworks shoot...!!!
And blossom like petals opening in the Spring,
As though I am looking at speeded up film.
As I watch the glorious colours, I see only beauty and light.,
Childrens faces in the crowds,
Who never before have seen such a sight.
Boats on the Thames, at midnight,
The London eye in moonlight.
Maybe that should have been enough,
The moonlight and the stars,
Not millions of dollars, going up in smoke,
Is it really beautiful, or maybe a sick joke??
Earlier today on the same t.v. screen
I watched a very different scene.
Dirty water, we would not wash in,
given to children to drink.
They have no choice, the voice over said,
as my jaw dropped to the floor..
My mind was racing at the awful sight,
of dirty grey water filled with parasites.
The water is given to babies,, It will make the sick,
But they have no choice.
They have no choice.
My eyes turn back to the brilliant sights
of fireworks bursting, brightening the night,
And how much did it cost? I have no idea,
But something inside me changes.
Can we not drill for water that´s clean?
Save childrens´lives,? Life is a dream
for some of these mothers, whose babies are dying
as millions of us watch the sparkles high flying.,
Our world is unfair, I´ve always known that.
My dad always told me ´Be grateful¨.
We live in a country with plenty of food,
and freedom of speech, and jail for the hateful.
If he saw the world now, Oh, what would he think?
Good has become bad. Bad is alright,, Black can be white,
Oh what a world , when fireworks cost millions,
and children have foul, dirty water to drink.
Oh what a world , when presents fill rooms,
other young boys carry cans full of filth.
Murderous water that surely can kill,
But they have no choice, so drink it they will.
While presents are opened, and joy´s all around,
I´m thinking of children who sleep on the ground,
There must be a way, if only I knew what to do or to say.
I´m loving the sights of the colours in flight,
Shiny faces of children, wrapped in warm hats and gloves,
Yet l cannot forget but think of the traces,
of dirt and dead flies on little ones faces.
Born in wrong place, the sooner they´ll die.
Is it all I can do, just to sit and ask why?
No one can fix it, or so it would seem,
Many a good man has had such a dream,
that ´feeding the world´is the right thing to do,
Yet tyrants and terrorists, to mention a few,
Ruin ideas of good men.
There must be a way.
there must be a way
If only I knew what to do or to say.