Mogadishu in Toronto

Eyes wild he rushes me his arms threshing above his head. No room no time for all the nice proprieties. Suddenly I kneel in his path - he comes to his own knees reaching out desperately for the simple food in my hands. I give. I stare. Ravenous he stuffs his gaping mouth and gulps noisily from the cup I offer him. And who am I to feed my starving brother in this tortured time? Mogadishu is in Toronto - hearts are hungering, hopes dare everywhere....

Compassion calms. Here I hold my brother now trembling, stark, and stinking in my arms.

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