Monthly Archives: December 2010

The Earth Woke Peacefully: in Commemoration of a War

For the first time in twenty-two days the Earth woke up without a start. Even though the sky was spotted with a few randomly dispersed clouds, it was bereft of the disturbing tones of the overhead drones which had now disappeared. The earth had woken peacefully, peacefully enough not to bear with the frighteningly gigantic burden of a new bomb to be dropped onto her surface bestowing on her some savagely massive shake. Peacefully enough not to endure the deafeningly immense sound of another bomb tearing down through its stratums. The earth had woken peacefully enough not to feign warm-heartedness as she embraces a new lifeless body laid into her deepness, and peacefully enough not to feel the insufferable pain of watching herself fight a losing battle against a huge bulldozer mercilessly extirpating a new sapling that had just issued from her sand. The earth had not woken with a start to mournfully open her arms for a new falling bird that had failed to estimate the looming dangers of flying amidst a sky that covered an unbending race of humans: the bird flew so as to bring his brood a few seeds to feed upon and yet had to pay the inexorable bill of love and care. The earth had woken peacefully, and peace obviously had known its way through the countless bullets, rockets, mortars and bombs which had been horrifyingly raining on this part of the earth, and, it seemed, it had finally been able to guide itself through the jet-black darkness of the multiple graves. Peace, as far as one could tell, had flown out from the bottomless earth up to the very heights of the sky where the soaring birds could finally replace the awful scene of mighty jets and warplanes.

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On Page “184”

Sweet. Provoking. Sometimes the two attributes reconcilably fuse together into one where I stand unguarded against the impulsive temptations for cursing the holiness of the vacancy of the place. Around the bend I stood, waiting for a cap so as to escape the impervious darkness of our house except on rare occasions when the feeble beam of a candlelight can reach and dimly lit a tiny spot here or there, blown by the maddeningly raving winds of mid December, my growing wrath which had now cumulated itself in my chest which was already brimming with pent-up ages-old anger the causes for which, unlike their united implications on me, vary disparagingly, stifled; and engaged in my desperate endeavors to stop myself from cursing the place where I have grown and become a man whose tongue can strikingly respond to the most abominable of curses having learned in the aisles of the camp and furnished myself with a remarkable arsenal of phrases and swear words accompanied with the most influential way, pitch and facial expressions of communicating them to my opponent (once he dares to set himself up as one) sharply and in a matter of a few seconds in order to leave him perplexed and wordless. I sank my hands into my pretty warmer pockets, and furtively searched the place with my looks for any sign of a coming light. In vain.

I thought how warmer it would have been had I said “No” to my friend’s invitation to go out for a walk, only to be struck with the charm and loveliness of the scene of our home when I left it. My father would be reading all alone now, having the whole light of the candle, the whole small-sized wooden table with its four dwarfish legs he made with his bare hands and which we used for reading, the whole cup of coffee,  and all the time in the world, only for himself, without me who would usually share him and bask in such pleasures, the flavor of which is still distinct to me. “I should have stayed.” I thought. Continue reading