Afghanistan at the Brink of Mercy

There are symbols of the dreadful failure of losing humanity to hatred hovering in the sky today. Symbols of immature political wrath suffocating world peace. In many languages the sky speaks to us, symbols are one of them. Yes, the sky never literally speaks and so do some dreadful events silently scream. You have to learn a certain language of understanding symbols in order to fathom the stories they unfold.

Today, up there are colorful fades of black and grey; painting of bloodshed, a sense of sudden terror springing its roots from a massive useless 20 years of war; limitless, endless, purposeless.

It is witnessing the autumn of hope, a secret desire of peaceful coexistence is frozen cold today in the hottest month of August, but I don't know why am I remembering what The Rumi of Balkh once said; " don't grieve. Anything that you lose, comes around in another form ".

It took twenty years to understand the purposeless nature of a war that faded away one beautiful cultural heritage, dozens of diaspora with an identity crisis, let alone peace, freedom, and safety, but the countless body pieces resulting from bombing.

With my human limitations, I can only sense, witness, feel and see the worst scenario to have happened and could happen, but unlike Rumi, I don't know what good can come in what form and when, so while I grieve along the sky, it reminds me of Buddha who uttered once " life is suffering " live past it.