Alarm!
Alarm!
An umbrella can't stop the rain,
two umbrellas can't stop the rain,
three umbrellas break, bombs explode,
metal rain is not angelic,
bombs are not divine,
this sugar candy won't change a thing.
Every bitter bite is a child's breath.
Every death is the end of the future of all the children of the world.
I look at the sky and the dark clouds have arrived and the winter is freezing.
The animals inside get warm
but there are many victims out there in the cold
and I can't sleep thinking about them.
Alarm!
Alarm!
Children don't deserve this pain.
Who are you who have no feelings?
Who are you who live without thinking?
Will this war be the last?
This pain will be there last.
My bed has no peace,
it moves under the bombs,
I hear them coming and I think of those missing children,
to mothers who try to put them to sleep.
How did Jesus sleep when it was cold?
How can he remain silent in the face of this disaster?
My food turns bitter because I cry,
this war does not end, I cry, I pray, but human beings are deaf,
they have become inhuman,
total alienation of armies and young boys.
I pray for Ukrainian and Russian children.
I make no difference,
I understand everyone's pain but where is God?
What are you doing? Please call God!
I had my grandmothers who always prayed. They were Catholic and practiced the religion seriously. Before having breakfast, after having dressed and washed, they would put their hands together, on their knees in front of a statue of Jesus or of the Madonna, and prayed for a long time, at least an hour. Then even before eating they said prayers. Always pruma of food they said prayers, both in the morning at breakfast and at lunch and dinner. They had many pictures of saints and angels at home. They also kept statues of Jesus or Mary and always placed vases of flowers and often prayed on their knees. They were sweet and affectionate women. My mother also sometimes did these things but in the beginning, when I was a child, she was very good and sweet, but then she became bad, because of my father, and she still continues to pray but she is very different now. Sometimes men destroy women's lives. My grandparents were good. One read newspapers and smoked and was alone in the family shop. The other always went to the countryside and grew wheat and olives and told stories of the war he had fought. They never prayed. I've never seen them on their knees. They didn't even go to mass. They never swore but I believe they didn't believe in God. My grandparents died young. My grandmothers lived to be 95. Who knows how many prayers they said. They told them to protect others and asked nothing for themselves. My grandmothers were selfless women. I don't know if they still pray for us. My mother doesn't know who she prays for. My mother prays and then curses me. I believe his curses are effective but I want to believe that there is a powerful Light, more powerful than his evil words against me. I hope this light can protect me from all the evil you want for me. There are many women who change and become bad because of men. I've never seen a man pray.
I have read and heard that some friends and acquaintances also organize online prayer and meditation groups for this difficult time. They are good if that can make them feel better. I have personally stopped praying in public since I left the Catholic Church. For me, prayer is an intimate relationship with a harmony that has no face, voice, location or figuration whatsoever; it is an opening to the transcendent that can only be expressed with interior silence. The prayers that the religious have taught us and are read in every mysticism, serve to create that atmosphere that makes us feel the sense of the transcendent beyond any philosophy taught. I believe that even today they can serve to understand that beyond the didactic dictates, there is the voice of the heart and the strength of the feeling that is stimulated by the poetry of the words, if we know how to listen to them and if we find them in ourselves. Thus praying becomes simple and doing it in a group is possible only if the harmony between people manages to create that mystical inspiration that prayers suggest. What their purpose is is indicated by the feeling that can express them, certainly not by the mind that wishes.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 