Saturday, 17 September 2011

Sabra and Shatila

The last sips of my chai I took, when I clicked upon the above link to unveil to my eyes, rather my ears - that which I did not wish to see. How does one see with their ears? One see's when the words heard tell of a story real. Pictures take shape in your mind's eyes, and an image crushed comes back to life. Blood becomes real, their cries become loud, their voices can be heard and so much imagined, remains no more - imagined that is.

Many a times I have been there, as have you. So many times I have refused to allow my eyes and ears from living their screams and realities. So many times I have succeeded, but every time that I have not, is when I have perhaps done something right. To what avail is hiding, blocking one's self from pain that was really another's? What does this hiding achieve? If only our hearts were to open and see the pains that exist in a world very much the same as we live in, but oh so different in the lives we live. While I was growing up in a house - fed, loved and safe, they were being cheated of life itself before it even began. While I was being looked upon by eyes of parents that were disciplining my wrongs, and loving my achievements - they were being washed by theirs and buried... or not, for their parents too were gone? How do two such extreme lives continue to exist in a world that in name is the same, but the lives permitted to them both have no one standing up to take the blame? How do we convince ourselves to stop listening, watching - while those who lose, continue without having a choice or the means? How does one find the peace and sleep, when the images are not even real for me and yet this is how they leave me to feel? How does one pray to their Lord, and beg for His mercy to spread over His creations? What a test, their life truly is. In knowing that those gone, have done so straight up to His Promised Heaven, but the plight left behind through their blood, is only watering the bed for more lives to be lost in their name - no matter what side of the game they be shed on. For how long shall this be, for how long shall all this so remain?

With a piercing headache, I only manage to type out my angst... and listen to some more pictures that I shall for now, leave unframed.

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