UnSaid۔ They always ask for a word i will be referred by. "Dweller of Paradise", i repeated a hint. ;but alas they didn't believe. May be i was unworthy or may be the place of which i am a settler isn't a Paradise.
kehte hai na... Nam sikandr rakhne se bakhte_sikandr ho na saka.
Surrounding us are many gadgets ; mobile phones , cars movable, trains flexuous, planes flying etc and they have utterly transformed our ways of living. We measured the heights of Mounts ,and depths of the Pacific. We cricumscribed this globe, we strike other planets , we pierced the minute - atom and cell, We axed bombs, we grow plants, we are sailing , flying , diving ,& driving . Many more like these are examples of the human intellect , but at the same point , we witness the rift existing between developed and underdeveloped . The boundary is phenomenal , and we observe that it is the *thought process* that has raised us sometimes - somewhere ,and we sink also with our own hands. Thus , this species collectively can achieve much more that it individually , usually does. There is clear message for our Qom-what i call , that we can achieve much more than we have.
As citizens we can demand what we don't have (right now a better health care system) , we can achieve what others failed to , we can teach what others don't , we can unite when others divide, and we can give of what others even don't think of.
The only fuel to this is our thinkingness. What we need is a faculty of thinkers, who can achieve granularity in everything ,which we must and we don't ,we have to be different , sometimes a beacon light when others are moving without any motive, sometimes a leader when others lose hope , sometimes a master , trainer when others lack , and sometimes a learner when others know.
Leaving this all.. my message is clear in the below penned urdu lines...
I have my identity inherited, What is it you wish to make me? These moulds of yours Only break me into pieces, Don't you see, they do not fit?
You took away what had been mine, Making me bleed everyday With whips of your deception: I stood on my land, You marked it yours; I shouted in the streets, You desolated them; I tried to speak, You buried my voice; I wished to see my kins, You locked me down.
Isn't this my home Which you have chained in lust? Offering every brick To those who are not me.
Isn't this my room Unasked which you have inhabited? Living all you desire by While strangling mine in dead nights.
Isn't this my land Which you have painted crimson? Ornamenting them with medals And facades of patriotism.
What is it you are made of That cannot empathize with suffering? What is it you actually are Attired in human shape and skin?
You cannot be me, Do you listen? You cannot be what I am, You do not share same blood Which flows in my veins, You do not share same essence, Which my land has bequeathed.
I was beaten and blinded, I was locked and raped, I was removed and killed, I was burnt and buried, All this I suffered for my land, Which you gift them as charity.
Can they be me? Will they suffer like me? They never struggled for me They can never be me.