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ArtistA bowl of soup is served to the hungry youngstar, made of boiled grass and herbs. A starving bull lies on the bare hot ground, wishing to be slaughtered by its owners. Elders in their huts sharing tobacco and sentiments, asking rhetoric questions ‘Ever see the Lord smile?’, another answers ‘not through our faces my old friend’. The blue sky, the beauty that seems to many, is far from a good view in this land. A bowl of soup is served to a big bellied business tycoon, made of fresh vegetables and bone marrow. As he watches the news, the camera captures a dying bull and a wailing woman wailing words of troubled souls. He turns to his visiting friend and asks, ‘Ever see the Lord smile?’, “only through your face, my friend” was his flattering reply. Outside the big mansion gathering clouds shade the grass, the anxious rain that would bring joy to many, is far from a good view in this land.
