Words he cannot see


MPj03211260000[1]

Out the womb we exit, our lungs inflate, we breath. Out the womb we exit, to welcome the sights, the sounds, the smells and our mothers. On her nipple you feed, a source of joy and nourishment, unlike the 9 months of feeding down a cord, the monotony broken by the most primitive of reflexes. Take a minute to realize, the blessing in your life, I urge you now to close your eyes for 10 seconds, and tell me what you see. Darkness, spots, shadows? A dream unlike reality, in our world we most don’t see.

He’s 7 this kid I speak off, 7 years that is. Most of you were learning to skip, jump and scream. He lies in bed, waiting for his next dose, his next infection around the corner, waiting to appear on a black and white photograph, unlike the ones we keep as memories, this album he does not enjoy. I write not so you pity, but you empathize. I write to remember him always, his strength miraculous as he fights, fights were we have most given up. Fights to sit on his bed another day, seeing but mere shadows move around, hearing voices of doctors, nurses and his mom. I don’t want you to imagine you’re in his place, I just want you to understand, if he can fight then why can’t we? Why do we give up on the simplest of tasks, when he fights to live another day of sickness?

In the other room lies a boy aged 12, face shaped like a moon from the steroids they’ve been pumping into his system since he was 5, he’s grown resistant to the drug, I say why him? Why not you, me or anyone else? His luck lay less on the clover leaf meter? Maybe.

Life is not so complex, when you look at it the way I have the past 6 weeks. I walk in and out of rooms, where patients can barely stand. I nag over the quality of food, when she’s got a tube going into her nose, down to her stomach so she can eat.

I know we all have problems, some bigger than others, some really huge. I’m not writing this to make you feel bad, or say you’re supposed to think about these people every single day of your life and feel bad and not do anything, but I write this for me. I write this for him. I write this for all of you. I write this for the world. I write this for her.

I leave you with my kindest regards, my farewell I bid to the world. I’m dying today, or a part of me is, it’s fading, fading away. You don’t know who I am, you don’t know I exist. In each and every soul I reside, waiting to escape, I often do and relapse soon again. I am the anger inside you all, the obliterator of peace. The dark side to the moon, the sunset when we need light. I am the Ebola to this country, the ticks to a dog’s back. I am the obliterator of peace, the anger inside you all.

My gift to you, as this year ends, a box of peace I bring. Peace with yourself I ask, to make before the world. Nor Gaza, nor Iraq nor Africa, it does not start there. It starts in that part dying, in each and every one of you, I swear.

Happy holidays.

Advertisements

4 Comments

Filed under Myself & I, Saving the world, Struggling with the unknown

4 responses to “Words he cannot see

  1. “…it does not start there. It starts in that part dying, in each and every one of you, I swear.”

    This. I salute you.

  2. Each morning I realize that the person I was yesterday exists no more!
    I realize that there is no tomorrow, there is no yesterday.
    Just today!
    Hence I learned to never lament about whatever happened and never hold a grudge!
    There is never enough time…

    Now you get how We die a bit everyday 🙂 😉

    Happy holidays my dear 🙂

  3. Saed: Arr arr arr, *drops pen*, bahaha!
    Zeina: It’s true, there never is enough time that’s why I keep telling people to savour every moment! I guess I did finally realize how we die a bit every day :). Happy holidays habool :).

  4. It often crosses my mind that from the moment we come into this world we start marching steadily towards a moment of inevitable doom. Everybody does it, some just walk there faster than others.

    Yeah, it’s a shame how we often neglect to appreciate the little things that we got accustomed to (walking, talking, eating, being healthy).

    Anyway, happy holidays.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s