I don't know if I can call this a poetry or a very short story or just some thoughts — but I just wanted to let you read it.
When I think of my good job, the nice house, the OK car, my three great children, and my nice and pretty wife –I feel grateful
When I drink strong coffee and eat bread with butter and honey, and when I do that for lunch at home, and rest on the sofa afterwards – I feel happy
When I put my youngest boy to bed, read for him and stay with him until he sleep – I feel privileged
When I see all the programs about migration and the refugee crisis, and see all those parents who are unable to have the life I have – I feel sad
When I see all those children living in fear, poverty and uncertainty – I feel angry
When i read about or hear of all those cynical people abusing children for work or sex – I feel that I want to scream out load and break something
When I lean back and look on what I have written – I felt the need to share this with you.