{"id":2067,"date":"2014-05-15T11:00:00","date_gmt":"2014-05-15T11:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/viajeraeditora.wordpress.com\/2014\/05\/15\/chicos-de-la-calle-alain-lawo-sukam"},"modified":"2015-06-17T22:15:18","modified_gmt":"2015-06-18T01:15:18","slug":"chicos-de-la-calle-alain-lawo-sukam","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/viajeraeditorial.ar\/blog\/2014\/05\/chicos-de-la-calle-alain-lawo-sukam\/","title":{"rendered":"Chicos de la calle – Alain Lawo Sukam"},"content":{"rendered":"
Chicos de la calle<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n

Al amanecer, vagabundean por las calles revestidos de harapos. El hambre en los ojos, la tristeza en los huesos. Al atardecer, hurgan en la basura de los barrios prohibidos donde mueren de fiestas los anfitriones acaudalados.<\/span>
Al anochecer, recuestan la cabeza en cartones remendados a la intemperie, so\u00f1ando con un ma\u00f1ana feliz.<\/span>
Mansas ovejas sin pastor, son presas de tigres perversos, llanto silencioso de seres inocentes gimiendo en calabozos de almas olvidadas. El da\u00f1ino pegamento calma el hambre diaria, acaba con el fr\u00edo nocturno, acaba con el miedo al duende y acaba con la vida dolorosa.<\/span>
Sin rodeos, me dieron el relato de sus vidas y me contaron sus desventuras sin artificio.<\/span>
Me parte el coraz\u00f3n ver las miradas sin futuro,<\/span>
mar de sue\u00f1os rotos.<\/span>
Los gritos desesperados de aquellos hijos de la calle resuenan en mi cabeza y en mi pluma, sus l\u00e1grimas.<\/span>

<\/span><\/p>\n

Street children<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n

At dawn, they wander the streets dressed with rags. Hunger in their eyes, sadness in the bones. At dusk they rummage through the garbage of the forbidden neighborhoods where wealthy hosts die from partying. At nightfall they rest their heads in mended boxes out in the open, dreaming of a better tomorrow.<\/span>
Docile sheep without shepherd, they are the prey of perverted tigers, silent weeping of innocent beings groaning in the jails of forgotten souls. The harmful glue calms the daily hunger, ends the cold at night, ends the fear of goblin, and ends the painful life.<\/span>
Bluntly they gave me a story of their lives, and told me their misfortunes without artifice.<\/span>
It breaks my heart to see the futureless looks, sea of broken dreams.<\/span>
The desperate cries of those street children resound in my head and in my ink, their tears.<\/span>

<\/span><\/p>\n

Les enfants de la rue<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n

Au lever du soleil, ils tra\u00eenent dans les rues rev\u00eatus d\u2019haillons. La faim dans les yeux, la tristesse dans les os. A la tomb\u00e9e du jour, ils fouillent dans la poubelle des quartiers interdits o\u00f9 meurent de f\u00eates les h\u00f4tes fortun\u00e9s. A la tomb\u00e9e de la nuit, ils reposent la t\u00eate dans des cartons rafistol\u00e9s \u00e0 la belle \u00e9toile, r\u00eavant d\u2019un lendemain heureux.<\/span>
Brebis dociles sans berger, ils sont les proies de tigres pervers, pleurs silencieux d\u2019\u00eatres innocents g\u00e9missant dans les cachots des \u00e2mes oubli\u00e9s. La colle nocive calme la faim quotidienne, an\u00e9anti le froid nocturne, an\u00e9anti la peur du lutin et an\u00e9anti la vie douloureuse.<\/span>
Sans ambages, ils me font le r\u00e9cit de leur vie et me racontent leurs m\u00e9saventures sans artifice.<\/span>
\u00c7a me brise le coeur de voir les regards sans futur, mer de r\u00eaves bris\u00e9s.<\/span>
Les cris d\u00e9sesp\u00e9r\u00e9s de ces enfants de rue r\u00e9sonnent dans ma t\u00eate et dans ma plume, leurs larmes.<\/span>

<\/span>Alain, Lawo-Sukam, Sue\u00f1o con \u00c1frica \/ Dream of Africa \/ R\u00eave d\u2019Afrique<\/b>.<\/span>
Viajera, 2013.<\/span>

<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Gregory Halpern<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n


<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Chicos de la calle Al amanecer, vagabundean por las calles revestidos de harapos. El hambre en los ojos, la tristeza en los huesos. Al atardecer, hurgan en la basura de los barrios prohibidos donde mueren de fiestas los anfitriones acaudalados.Al anochecer, recuestan la cabeza en cartones remendados a la intemperie, so\u00f1ando con un ma\u00f1ana feliz.Mansas […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":3473,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[4],"tags":[118,44,67,241],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/viajeraeditorial.ar\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2067"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/viajeraeditorial.ar\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/viajeraeditorial.ar\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/viajeraeditorial.ar\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/viajeraeditorial.ar\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2067"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/viajeraeditorial.ar\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2067\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3474,"href":"https:\/\/viajeraeditorial.ar\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2067\/revisions\/3474"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/viajeraeditorial.ar\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3473"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/viajeraeditorial.ar\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2067"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/viajeraeditorial.ar\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2067"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/viajeraeditorial.ar\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2067"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}