Who are they? They are singing in my ear.
The sound they produce hurts me.
They are singing of a different world.
That world, they say, is filled with people,
Ruled by a single dictator.
They say his name is God.
They say he forgives, I don’t know.
They say He helps the needy. I am not sure.
Because they still sing of famine and drought,
they still talk of an evil power, which they try to ward off with incenses.
What world do they live in? I don’t know.
They are still immensely patriotic. They love their homeland.
They fight with all their might for it. Strange, yes?
I don’t know if I want to visit that land. They are inviting me there. They say the water is sweet, the fruits are juicy and the people, warm and friendly.
My ears hurt, but they don’t listen. They still sing.
The song has no notes. The song is a little more than a hum. It is a unique composition. My ears are hurting; I feel they may just bleed.
This distant land seems more than a dream. It seems like the perfect blend of the disastrous mix of black and white, right and wrong. It is everything we feared; it is everything we never could understand. Our fear of this ‘utopian’ land ends not at the scene when He, the dictator, exits, it begins when he enters and begins his autocratic hold on our lives with powerful forces of karma and dharma, entwined in a way that bedazzles yet frightens us. I don’t want to hear that song of his kindness and his greatness. Perfection is wonderful to strive for, but how can we expect this tyrant to seize our lives and fiddle them thee? Shan’t embrace the blasphemy darling, take your band and go home.
0 comments:
Post a Comment