I see tawny streams choked with plastic trash,

women bent low, rubbing clothes in the only water source.

I see tilting tents propped up by brittle sticks, 

pieces of soiled, bright-colored tarps lying on top. 

I see smeared blackboards with trails of writing after years of use,

a frayed rag nestles on the board tray.

In the midst of desolation, I see light in those children,

their eyes spark on their sunburnt faces like flickering candles

in the dark of poverty and despair.

I see blunt pencils in their hands, used to the shortest

with flattened rubber at the bottom, the wooden casing cracked.

I see them with patched stripe shirts, 

immersing into books so precious that they hold them carefully away from any dirt.

I see in the crude classrooms those hands raised high with eagerness toward knowledge.