A happy ending,
existent only in our minds?
Or is it possible that one day,
one refreshingly glorious day,
it can join our world of memories,
and stand alongside our courage.
Squeezed in-between faith and hope,
only to simply wave farewell to our troubles?
Can one swish of a broom,
or a sharing of a smile,
the stroke of a brush,
the birth of a child,
end it all?
Will fireworks erupt,
is a crowd going to cheer?
Will we know when?
Will we know how?
Are the birds going to sing?
Celebrate with chirps and tweets?
Will we all learn to get along?
To co-exist and to belong?
Will this victory last?
Or will it crumble?
Can we blame anyone for cupidity?
Or is it just plain stupidity?
Sometimes it all seems like a game,
with a pause button and a controller included.
Other days, the pain is more vibrant than ever,
radiating and penetrating through your body,
physically, emotionally, mentally.
Our grief and loss on some days seems to tip the scale,
outweighing love and belonging significantly.
“Why us?” I hear them say,
Sometimes, there is no answer.
Scarred women, defeated men, and fretful children cannot bear to speak.
On those days, the breeze is left to answer the question that tints the air.
Some days, especially just after a demolition, the question seems to pull a trigger,
and cries and moans and sighs accompany the summer breeze.
But on the really bad days, there is more than that,
there are shouts and yells, insults and threats, slowly starting then spreading like wildfire.
There is no mercy on those days, only thoughts of revenge circle the air.
But one day,
perhaps one day,
someone will break the silence,
and answer the question,
perhaps they will say: “Because we are strong, we can get over this”,
or they will quote an inspirational person,
and then we will all applaud,
and our worries will leave us,
will carry themselves across the sea.
Can our dreams just be fragments of our imagination?
Pointless thoughts?
An abomination?
Sometimes,
just after a bomb goes off,
or perhaps when a cousin or two is killed,
I will lose hope,
my mind left astray.
“But you’re alive… you’ve been spared…” a wise voice inside me whispers,
but it’s too late because now anger replaces loss of hope,
and it surfaces to my skin.
The taste of defeat is almost palpable.
On those days,
I feel great loneliness.
I mourn and grieve,
and so does the rest,
but they don’t offer sympathy,
no condolences or warm-hearted wishes.
On those days, you can stare them right in the eye,
And you can tell.
Their eyes,
they’ve lost their depth.
Their life, they’ve lost it.
There is nothing left.
Nothing at all.
So you decide that they’re dead.
These people are the living dead.
And you think, why not just **** themselves now and save the pain later?
On those days,
Your focus isn’t right, and you’ll sometimes say things aloud,
and their eyes, for just a moment
they’ll seem to bounce with joy,
as if you’ve granted them a wish or something,
as if they’d never considered there ever being an escape.
And so they do.
Look what you’ve done now, stupid. Look at them! JUST LOOK AT THEM NOW!
But you fight the urge to follow their paths,
and you stare at them for a long time.
And then something catches your attention,
a spark,
and you notice their eyes.
And it seems they’d been alive this whole time.
They’ve just been to cowardly to show it.
And, the people, a second or two before their last breath,
They’ll regret it,
They’ll see that life truly is a blessing,
it is joyous, it is happy.
It might not be perfect, but it’s something.
Something to work on, something to do.
It’s better than just turning and tossing in a grave, at least.