Dear Earth, they are starving.

I just woke from a nap in my cosy bed, and the first thing I thought of was them.

Petra, Marko and Peter. They are on the cold streets of London, waiting to speak to our Prime Minister about you, dear Earth. They haven’t put food into their mouths for fourteen days. They say they will get thinner and thinner until he speaks to them.

They are only three, in a world of 7.53 billion. There are many others who are not choosing to starve, and who are starving. In the sub-Saharan region, 23% of people are undernourished. This is a clinical way of saying that they are hungry, and thin. That they get weary more quickly than they should. That their bones crave more softness when sitting on the baked earth of the ground.

I am drinking tea and eating a chocolate biscuit. I know it doesn’t help to carry this guilt, dear Earth, and yet I do. I welcome it, and ask it if it is willing to transmute into gratitude. For the opulent extravagance of my warm bed and biscuits. For the painful knowledge of the progression of your sickness. For the beautiful sacrifice of Peter, Marko and Petra. For their fear. For their sacred hunger.

Peter is seventy six. He is striking for his grandchildren – they are two and four. I imagine them hearing the story of their grandfather. I imagine the world we are leaving them. I offer my tears to you, darling Earth.

Love, Satya <3

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With gratitude for the photo by Luke Southern on Unsplash