Feet outward,heads inward.

Mountains of corpses.

Layer upon layer of bodies piled so as not to see the eyes,the mouth,the noses.


In one forgotten hear of bodies not yet burned was an eyeball looking out and watching us.

Was it alive?

Was just a maggot putting false life into a dead face?


Water,water.

All wandering searching for water.

Fleeing from the licking flames searching for a last drop of water.


A hurt mother clutching her child running along the river.

Falling into the deep part and scrambling back desperately to the shallow.

Run! through the fierce flames enveloping the river.

Stopping only to cool her face in the water.

Run! Run!

Finally to here.

Finally she gave breast to babe and found out it not alive.


A portrait of mother anf child in the 20th century.

Wounded mother and dead infant,the statue of despair.

Let the mother and child be a symbol of hope as it has always been.

It must be!