To the Child Who Burns***
I cannot save you. I cannot wrap my arms around you and make the flames of Hell stop burning your skin. I cannot tell your leaders or those who oppose them to find a better way, for they will not listen. I cannot even tell my own leaders anything. They don’t know me. I am nothing to them. They will not listen either.
But you, you are everything to me. You are the son I never had; the younger brother I never got to see grow up. You are the child of some ancient culture; what have we done, all of us, to set you afire? All of us. What have we done?
All I can do is bow my head before you. For I know that you are my teacher. Your flames burn into the hearts of millions, forcing us to come to grips with the madness of our old ways. My own heart cries, “how many burning children will it take before we turn to the Love which is our own essence, and the essence of the Gods we worship and their prophets? How many”?
I do not want to stay here. I do not want to watch you burn. But I have work yet still to do. You are everything. So I will stay and do my work.