Sky is slowly being taken hostage by the dark forces of the dark Satan. The glistening lights of the bright powers, the sun and the stars namely, are also slowly losing themselves in the euphoric sensation of defeat, to an invincible and almighty foe. It is difficult and tricky to differentiate between friend and fiend.
The debilitating effects of this grimy atmosphere are firmly and incessantly shattering his determination and his might. He is alone. All alone. Like god. No, worse than god in point of fact, as when god wills something he just says it and “it becomes” , as Muslims and all other fortunate faithful believers see it. But not him. He is lonelier than god, in this brute world. In this suffocatingly swarming place when it is hard to even breathe at times for there are too many people. That is what they call themselves. That is how they have come to name themselves. People. Not for him. No, not for him. In this sea of people, he is a lost and haunted ghost all alone in this vast and expansive ocean. He is, dear reader, anybody-less.
Pondering, thinking, brooding, suffering, and bleeding are the main words nowadays that he uses to describe himself. Disappointed, disillusioned, dissatisfied, angry, sad and fatigue are the words he uses to depict how he feels. Revenge, spite, terror, horror and agonizing pains are the words he borrows to illustrate what he wants to inflict upon the ones that have betrayed, backstabbed, pained, wounded him, who have slaughtered his most susceptible, vulnerable, and gentle sentiments and turned them into a monstrous creature that is ready to take the world down with himself. That is ready to strike unrepairable and ineradicable blows at the face of this atrocity, cruelty and inhumanity-filled inhabitance.
The darkness has finally enveloped his fragile body too. He is helpless and hopeless. His future is nothing but bleak. He is about to explode. It is just a matter of time. And nothing else. It will happen. That is what he feels. His eyes are blind now. Nothing to look at; nothing to see in this pitch darkness. He keeps looking for some source of light, even if it is a slender prospect, the enemy of this nightmarish obscurity, this damning vicious cycle that is taking everything, most of all his humanity, away from him. But there are none in his sight. That is why he has befallen blind to the attacks of the mighty and ruthless enemy. The lies. These lies that are at least as black and potent in disparaging as the lethal weapons of the night and of the Satan. The pinky words of the past that were uttered to him come to his mind. He is revolted, dismayed and nauseated now. Such empty and hollow words. Do you know, dear reader, that in many languages “word” and “promise” are the same word, and mean the same thing. Once a word is pronounced, it is a promise written in stone. Or it should be in any case. That is how he perceives the words and that is, alas, also why he is so pained by them: these same words. Yes, that is profoundly why.
He has decided to wait, a little longer, to see if his blindness could be cured or at least alleviated so that he can prolong his walk of life. But all around is dark. Thus it is easier to see anything bright. However, simpler also to finish this futile and thorn-filled march.
Jiyan Berxwedan e - Life is Resistance!
No comments:
Post a Comment