In The Distant Close November 20, 2007Posted by astralwicks in 21st century, Blogging, Hope, india, Nations, peace, Personal, Politics, Random, Reflections, Thoughts, World, Writing.
We dreamt of a land for ourselves. We didn’t want anybody else there. We promised that we will love each other, care for each other, in sickness and in health we will be arm in arm, hand in hand. We will have equality, we will have parity, we will have progress, health and happiness. There will be none like us. The world will look at us and wonder…how happy they look. Why can’t we be like them, they wonder?
Us and them went our separate ways. Rivers, mountains, trees, sun and shade everything torn asunder. The water changed course and color. People changed lands and history. They tried to forget the past and failed.
They moved on like life because there was no option. They cursed each other. In snow and in desert they killed each other. Abuses rent the air. Tears went unwept. Nobody cared for the other.
Time went by and they stood still. Unwilling to renege hate which gave fodder to their nightmares. Masochistic both and unrepentent. Eager to inflict more, suffer more but not yield. Suns changed a million times, the moon lost its sheen but not wounds still ooze.
They stand apart now. Both look askance now. Mellow is the hate now…do they still feel the old minutes and seconds? Yes, but grief too has a heart. It wept, cried and now tries to find peace. They look at each other with young eyes and hearts. Others still fight for land, glory, faith, ownership. The mountains are still crowned by black cloaks, green smoke and choked tears.
But the sun tries to smile now. At least it is moved to try. But the men and women, rulers and messiahs still pull them down. Why leave the past they proclaim? Leave it and you betray the past, the sacrifices, the hopes, the promises and passion of your fore-fathers. Can you and will you betray them?
But fate is nobody’s slave. One day it will drag us down. Downhill through the mountains and valleys we will be washed away. The virgin snow will smell red. The air nascent with death. It is only a matter of time before we make our own apocalypse. Engineer our own extinction. How will your land and gods; promise and betrayal matter that day when all will be nothing. No day. No night. Nothing.
Let’s meet again on that day and not say a word but mourn the beautiful loss. There will be no tears to quell the silence.
And no hate to quell peace?