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    Ta liberté enfant du progrès

    enfants

    auraient-ils moins de liberté que les nôtres ?

    Où est la liberté de l’enfant qui naît sans l’avoir décidé, où est sa liberté d’hurler la violence qui l’accueille, à peine sorti du nid, où est sa liberté de devoir se couvrir d’une panoplie de tissus plus agressifs les uns que les autres ?

    Où est sa liberté de manger quand sa bouche ne connaissait que la douceur de l’onde ?

    Où est sa liberté de respirer quand cet air qui rentre en lui de force sent le goudron et le moisi ?
    Où est sa liberté de s’entourer d’une couche qui lui écartèle les jambes ?
    Où est sa liberté d’entendre les cris, les niaiseries, sans qu’aucun filtre jamais plus ne les atténue ?
    Où est sa liberté d’être privé d’une histoire qui l’aurait bercé?
    Où est sa liberté de refuser ces dix milles objets qui le protègent de  ses apprentissages?

    Où est sa liberté de refuser la sécurité qu’on lui impose et qui ne l’épargnera jamais des réalités de la vie ?

    Où est sa liberté de réclamer le vide qui seul peut le remplir des rêves qu’il se cherche ?
    Où est sa liberté de grandir sans le regard d’autrui qui lui dicte sa conduite ?
    Où est sa liberté de se construire en dehors d’une dictature d’adultes qui croient tout savoir et tout décider pour lui, dans une avalanche d’objets comme les barreaux d’une prison ?
    Liberté, cesse de faire croire à l’enfant que tu existes, cesse de leurrer les peuples afin qu’ils s’entretuent, persuadés de te posséder aujourd’hui plus que le voisin.
    L’enfant te coure après, te voyant fuir devant lui, sans doute jusqu’à sa dernière heure, où de nouveau tu pointeras ton nez pour lui laisser faire de ses os, de sa chair, de son sourire, de son cerveau, ce que les autres ont décidé et qui ne sera plus rien !

    YOUR FREEDOM, CHILD OF PROGRESS

    They have lesser freedom than our children?

    Where is the freedom of the child who is born without having decided it .

    Where is his freedom to scream the violence, which meets him as soon as he leaves his nest.

    Where is his freedom to have to cover himself with a whole range of clothing, each one more aggressive than the other?

    Where is his freedom to eat, when his mouth only knows the softness of the wave  ?

    Where is his freedom to breath when the air which enters him, by force, smells of tar and mould?

    Where is his freedom to roll a diaper around himself, which moves his legs apart?

    Where is his freedom to hear shouting and foolishness, without having, ever again, a filter to steer it away ?

    Where is his freedom, to be deprived of a lullaby to lull him to sleep  ?

    Where is his freedom to refuse these ten thousand objects which protects him from apprentice ships ( espace)?

    Where is his freedom to refuse the security imposed on him, and yet, will never keep at bay, the realities of life  ?

    Where is his freedom to ask for emptiness, which only the dreams he is looking for, can fill?

    Where is his freedom to grow up without the stares from others, telling him what to do  ?

    Where is his freedom to build himself rather than the dictation received from ( espace) adults who, think they know all, deciding for him, from an avalanche of objects such as… prison bars  ?

    Freedom, stop making the child believe you exist, stop deceiving people in order for them to kill each other. Persuaded that they have the right on you, more than their neighbour.The child runs after you, seeing you escaping him, most probably until his dying day where, once again, you may well appear, letting him do with his bones, with his smile, with his brain, that which they have decided, and will be, nothingness for ever!

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