You Changed Me, Brazil the Beautiful
Autor: Grace | Publicado: 2012-05-23T08:00:00-07:00



This poem was wrote &nbsp;by my dear friend Cameron Christensen, about his experience while he was in Brazil.&nbsp;



"In the middle of the humidity I stood sweating,

The&nbsp;mosquitoes biting me, the lizards watching from a&nbsp;satellite&nbsp;camera.

Mud streets filled with olive green puddles from the last rain storm.

A skinny man with a pot belly stood at the corner of the alley way taking a piss

There was no such thing as policemen, a police state.

The bacteria in the water was growing into a sickening monster with no effect on local natives. Where was the fastest way for clean water?




My mouth was dry and sticky, lips chapped and bleeding.

I had been walking out in the jungle heat for over five hours.

My skin was burnt red and my pours full of oil.

An old&nbsp;fragile&nbsp;man with a white scruffy beard and a blue baseball cap road passed on his rusted bicycle, strapped to the back was several&nbsp;large 1 gallon bottled mineral waters.

His stony coarse voice yelled out “Agua Mineral!”

I looked at the tall dark skinned man I was working with. His hair short enough to see his scalp and his musk smelt like feet.

He could see in my eyes that I was dying with thirst.

“lets keep walking” he said. “lets keep walking.”




Passing each shack, with stone walled gates around each home.

The top of these white bricked walls had broken glass bottles sharp enough to cut flesh, green, brown, clear, red. They glared in the sun light giving off warning from any local fence jumpers or&nbsp;thieves.

“This was not Kansas anymore, Dorthy.”




Children played in the streets with no shoes on their feet.

Bright yellow and blue t-shirts with dark green and brown shorts

that looked like they hadn’t been washed in weeks as the cloth lay on their small bodies.

A homemade soccer ball came&nbsp;rolling&nbsp;down the street towards us. Plastic bags with rubber bands holding it together in an oval shape.

My co-worker kicked the ball back towards the kids. They stared at us with curious eyes, but forgot all about us, about me. The game continued on its way.


We kept on going, passed the children playing. I almost didn’t notice the small body&nbsp;sprawled&nbsp;out on the side of the dirt road. Silently I stepped over his legs and on to the road. I stared at him for a while. His dark skin basking in the sun light. His rib cage sticking out like a dying patient at a hospital, no shirt. He had curly black hair and a stubby nose. he wasn’t dead nor in a state of&nbsp;consciousness. A deep sleeper with dreams bigger then he. Stunned, I couldn’t look away.

Back home I had a car larger then most of the homes I was around. Certainly with nice leather seats, air conditioning, and a cd player. I lived in a middle class Mansion, I was filthy rich, I had food to eat and belly that was full. I thought I had everything these people didn’t. I was wrong. I never had what this child had.&nbsp;How could one person not be worried about anything going on around him? I thought. This child had something I’ve never had. A carelessness that I desired. He was free to be him. Free to be alive, and free to rest. He didn’t know nor cared for&nbsp;possessions. All he wanted was to lay in the sun. He was happier and more content then anyone I had ever laid eyes on.



The man I was with grabbed my arm, “lets keep walking. keep walking.”




Great one Cameron. Congratulations!

http://camwrites.wordpress.com/