This night was a drizzly one. I am awake, sitting on my bed and thinking. Sleep had refused to come to me, and my rational self-was demanding an explanation. I am wishing there is someone I can talk to,but in the absence of anyone; I try to talk to myself but my voice is a mixture of revulsion and amazement.
All day long, my mind had turned to a creative artist busy painting a picture of the agonies of the common man in my country. And as I begin to ponder on why the common man is been subjugated to the whims and caprices of those he had chosen to lead him. I also wonder why his resistance to these people who have put on selfenrichment as a breastplate and an helmet of greed on their heads has been so feeble. At the thought of his resignation to fate,I feel pains slashing at my heart.
I move over to the center of my bedroom, from this position I move my neck to and fro as if I am searching for that season when the common man had a reason that gave birth to a curiosity on his part as to what was on the top of and what lied on the other side of the mountain. When his determination was his sable vehicle of courage.
I walk over to the table beside my window and I pick up a picture. I look at it and memories come flooding back to me. The picture is a snapshot of a time when he had a driving urge to search for that beacon like light that he knew with all certainty would bring him delight.
Once upon a time, the motion of living was so mild, now everything has become the aversion of something else.The truth has been left behind in the street and honesty is turned backwards.Those chosen to lead the common man have put on the garmet of corruption to cover up their ugly nakedness,thus making the motion of surviving to suddenly become so wild. He has been left with a gaping void in the fabric of his live and almost unendurable senses of know nothing.
I lay the picture to rest on the table,I touch my face for the tear that is about to stream down my cheeks and my stomach becomes filled with bubbles of dissapointment. A dissapoinment that speaks of their inconsiderate actions and non chalant reactions to the common man's survivability. It is such a precarious situation, what he is going through in his attempt to stay afloat on a rampaging sea. He is striving to reach the shore by struggling to hold on to a piece of log to overcome the tide.
It looks like he is pissing in a net.
He now cry's in is sleep because his eyes refuse to close so deep, and the beep of the alarm clock every morning makes his heart leap like he is on a bumpy ride.
The sound of dawn has lost its sweetness; the taste now is like a knife to his weak heart.
Everyday in his live is painted with the colures of apprehension; everywhere speaks of the face of depression. his face!
He has completely fallen apart, the travails of life is now the currency of his world and poverty has become the path that is leading him into a tomorrow that is pregnant with a sunlight that will only skim glimmers of hope.
Why is the strength in his faith to overcome his fate becoming so little?
Why does he grope for the wall like the blind?
With jerky unsure movements I walk over to the window and stare into the open, straining to keep my gaze on the moon as if my answers are written on it.
I know that his mind is filled with so much pain and anguish. I also know that lately he has become a stranger to a smile, for the wants and needs that he cherishes have refused to flourish. Nevertheless this is not a reason for him to become an outcast like Cain,just wandering, moping and stumbling at noonday as in the night.
The going has become rougher for him. Now,his reaction needs to become tougher too.
it is written in a book that "sorrows will endure for the night, and joy will come in the morning".
Hope is available to him
About the Author
daniel is a script writer. his first novel will soon be published.