In the landscape of tomorrow, God is an almost dead man

Displaced Afghani Children at a refugee camp in Kabul

In the playgrounds of tomorrow, happiness bleeds like a mutilated man. Your children and mine are descendants of a shrivelled landscape that has failed them. All around, a cold boneyard of startled death, weeping voices, growls of an empty stomach, a slow march of sleep into death. In the landscape of tomorrow, God is an …

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