The nobodies….

“Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog,
And nobodies dream of escaping poverty.
That, one magical day
Good luck will suddenly rain down on them – will rain down in buckets
But good luck doesn’t rain down, yesterday, today, tomorrow or ever
Good luck doesn’t even fall in a fine drizzle
No matter how hard the nobodies
Or if they begin the new day on their right foot
Or start the new year with a change of brooms
The nobodies: nobody’s children, owners of nothing
The nobodies: the no-ones
The nobodied- running like rabbits, dying through life, screwed every which way
Who are not, but could be
Who don’t speak languages, but dialects
Who don’t have religions, but superstitions
Who don’t create art, but handicrafts
Who don’t have culture, but folklore
Who are not human beings, but human resources
Who do not have faces, but arms
Who do not have names, but numbers
Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the crime reports of the local paper
The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them”

(Eduardo Galeano)

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