I want to make the world a better place..

"Silence in the street,

In the distance, weeping and moaning,

A crowd of pale-faced people,

And the sound of sharp footsteps.

The air is full of sorrow and sadness,

A black mass of human beings,

Cries its eyes out until the end,

Over the life of a child, so short.

It seems to be silence, but one heart cries out in pain,

It is the heart of a mother,

It remembers that word - Mother... -

And now it presses white flowers to its heart,

Horses and a carriage at the very front,

And then a white coffin,

Behind it the crowd as if on water,

Carrying on their lips the words - That young lady has died... -

And the hole, there, in the cemetery,

And the one who dug it,

Have you thought, grave digger,

That another flower has fallen?

For you it's work,

You didn't know it,

It's not another soul that returns,

- Another hole... - you thought.

And then ironic music,

Terribly played on a trumpet,

Time doesn't slip away with it,

And it turns out you've lost life.

And it makes no sense . The priest's speech,

his face twists in a grimace,

God is the judge,

and the child's death is unjust.

Only the wake is still there,

the child lies in the grave,

"It's over," she thinks, "finally

." But this isn't how I imagined my funeral.

The child buried deep,

beneath a modest white slab.

And on the grave, a lily grows tall,

But they'll forget her like a child.

The most terrifying are children's graves,

those tiny, innocent ones,

Most are empty,

And they could be different.

This is the cross, my dear,

Mothers bend over it,

Bend your knees before it,

Or it might not exist at all..."

This poem is dedicated to my friends. I won't name them here because they should know for themselves whether they are or not. And please don't ask questions, because language is a source of misunderstandings, as the fox told the Little Prince. What really counts are gestures and movements, not words. Besides, harsh words can hurt more than a slap in the face. Believe me, I learned this myself...

What I hate most is the feeling of losing control of my life, the feeling of helplessness and helplessness. I want to help everyone, but I can do so little. I want to connect with everyone, and I think that's difficult. But I think I'm succeeding. I'm trying very hard. Yesterday, a woman approached me and said she'd never seen anyone so friendly. She was an older woman. It brought me such joy! My effort was noticed and rewarded with praise. It meant a lot to me. I kept it a secret. I relished it like a child with a lollipop from their aunt for good grades. I think I want to spend my whole life meeting new people and helping anyone in need, even those with so little I can.

Because what makes people a team, what holds them together, is shared sorrows, efforts, joys, and tears. For now, I hope there are as few of those tears as possible. I like to become attached to people, to have fond memories with them, to share common themes. To know as many people as possible who are friendly to me. Spreading joy in everyone, treating them to smiles, instilling hope, and giving them hope. I believe this is my part in repairing this world.