Haggard shadows slide along the fences.
Under broad-brim hats, the curvature —
distorted, soft and heavy, soft and bright —
broken innocents are hurrying up to work.

Why are there no schools for grown-ups
that will teach to care and to love,
to explain the simple truth and goals,
interpret how our universe reacts?

Why are there no schools for those
that are responsible for fragile souls,
that absorb the horrors of the world
through the pain, foul play? Disgust.

Why are there no schools to teach
broken kids to learn the pains of past,
to transform the mind and the trust,
heal the broken kids? But history repeats.

Anastasia Tara

March 21, 2024