Today
what makes me live this compressed life is not what I can’t fathom myself but
constantly doubt why things fall into a shallow pit hole of cruelty. If cruelty
and uneasiness is what I projected for myself, then why should I see through
the dust created by the bombs that were dropped by the butchers whom I know have
the purest hearts of all.
Unknown and these chaotic fleeting moments are the
same dust which I will summon with my prayers to promise that will inspire the
helpless hidden faces who are still suffering in the darkest corner pushed into
the narrows of life suffocating at the mercy of smart gigantic butchers. And
someday the monuments we built using the very fine dust will be discovered by
humanity that it is exact beauty we could mold while waves of remorse would
electrify shaking their knees to the grounds as they discover that each tiny
piece of the dust caries the energy that were created to build those
bombs.
If they have the guts to drop as many Bombs, I pray we have the undying will to build monuments which will be clearer in their wildest dreams. Making them feel that those monuments are possible because of them clearly indicating it belongs to them and we as the craftsmen will watch from a distance with a gentle smile leaving them at awe.
~Rd
