Ahmed Jabar Shareef is my friend and my guardian angel.
The children lining the roads of Iraq begging for food fill me with guilt, cynicism and anger.
Yet Ahmed who has been raped by this war, raped of his youth, raped of his body, raped of his sight, raped of his home, raped of his freedom, has no cynicism in his thoughts.
He gives love and trust without fear.
He grabs my hand and yells, "Run. Run please? Please, run."
He is a nine-year-old boy who wants to run.
He is a nine-year-old boy who can't run without someone to lead him. To stop him before the curb, before the tree, before the car that he cannot see.
He is a nine-year-old boy who wants to stomp his feet and twist to pop music.
He is a nine-year-old boy that teaches himself to play piano.
He is a nine-year-old boy that is a bird who knows no barbed wire.
He is a nine-year-old boy that is my guardian angel constantly reminding me that life is for love and trust, not cynicism and anger.
Ahmed Jabar Shareef is my friend