<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=392404" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Terms of Childhood</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">She rose, interrupting her 3am sleep, <br>To place a rough stone on the pavement<br>In the long queue of stones, marking her mother’s place<br>In the morning line for government bread</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She stands in pink at the school-bus stop<br>Faded satchel on her back, her eyes contained<br>By some slight terror of the daily world<br>Of the diesel clouds and traffic waves</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tending the family stall, she chases the flies<br>From small triangles of garlic flowers<br>On the metal-lined shelves of the mercado<br>As soldiers and inspectors deal their gains</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On the evening southern Kalahari plain<br>Her brother said, “there are 17 white stones”.<br>He was jumping from one smooth top to another –<br>The stones that ford the stream at Kanye</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I met him playing on the day<br>When 42 young and grown children were slain<br>By a death lottery apartheid raid, an act<br>That histories would rapidly disdain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The soiled dictator rules out his contenders<br>On general terms of fear and pain. <br>Would there be a lifetime<br>By which this deal was altered -<br>And something close to childhood came?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Frank+Bana">Frank Bana</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=392404" data-title="Terms of Childhood de Frank Bana" data-description="She rose, interrupting her 3am sleep, To place a rough stone on the pavement In the long queue of stones, marking her mother’s place In the morning line for government bread She stands in pink at the school-bus stop Faded satchel on her back, ..."></div> </div> </div>

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