10 September 2012

Never Too Old. Just Too Young

اَلسَّلَامُ عَلَيْكُمْ وَرَحْمَةُ اللهِ وَبَرَكَا تُهُ

There seems to be a disturbance in the air. The once familiar neighbourhood now seems like a distant image of illusion, ripped and torn by the merciless nature of time. And in the midst of all this howling wind and snapping cold, a boy - a lone figure so small it looked impossible such a fragile-looking frame could withstand such ferocity and still walk through the streets undisturbed as if on an evening stroll.

The only give-away of the temperature was the boy's thick, dark cloak that wrapped him on and on in an endless sea of fabric. And the only clue that the boy was a boy was his height. Well, he could be a girl but he could never have been a full-grown man or woman due to his rather dwarfish height. One might even argue for the case of malnutrition to answer for his not-so-tall look but for reasons other than the sake of simplicity, let's not argue with the author shall we?

So here was a boy, bandaged in clothes which resemble rags more than anything really walking hastily down a deserted street. What in the world he was doing, don't ask me for in my unbiased observation he too was at a loss of activity. That was the only reason someone so young to be here so late.

Yes, lost he was. Lost in the sunny ways of typical youngsters by the timing of his arrival and the way he carries himself. Lost in identity I'd say by the way he dressed. Lost in passion for anything by the bored look he so casually wears on his face. Most importantly, lost in words because of the unbreakable silence he had weighing down on his tongue and shoulders. Silence so loud it could only be caused by loneliness and a sense of misdirection.

And here I was looking at him from a distance - aware of all the misery the world has brought upon this young being yet afraid of taking action against such widespread injustice. The boy, I sensed, however was not sorry nor seeking empathy from the cruel inhabitants of this world. Rather, he was seeking understanding - not from the same people that inflicted this curse on him but from within - from and for himself.

The boy's onslaught (I'm sorry to say) has only just begun. And I say this not to siphon what little light he still had with him but as a precaution, a beacon for the boy so that he may keep that light safe from the winds and cold that seek to extinguish it's meek warmth from accompanying the boy through the long and arduous journey he has ahead of him.

A single smile escaped his eyes. There is hope it seems though very slight. He'll need it I suppose and a good sign it was that he was able to find reason to smile even when surrounded by conditions that could've easily put an adult to his knees in utter despair. What is there to smile about? In a place so dark. So wicked. With danger lurking in the shadows, luring weak prey for easy pickings. A place so straight yet so crooked. Where thousands upon thousands were martyred yet very few know of and even fewer care to tend to the wounded.

A world of selfish fools. A place full of deceit where the line between truth and lies blur. A playground for adults, a death arena for kids where coffins are filled with dreams and shut away forever. So tell me, "What is there to smile about?"

This sad sad truth is but the nature of things. That is unless we change it.

As the boy turned around the corner, I stole one last glance at him. Nighttime was knocking on the door and with it comes the amplification of all that's bad. So you would understand why I had to step back from the windowpane. Why I just had to look away from the boy. I could not bear to follow the boy's life anymore. It was too much of a pain.


And there I was thinking running away was the answer. As I fell onto my knees, a surge of pain in my legs. How could I be so blind? There was no boy! Only the passing of day making my reflection on the glass window move inch by inch until the setting sun made it turn into the corner of the sill...

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