I Believe

I believe in a world where ten people don't have to be poor because one is rich. I believe in a world where goodness can overcome the awkwardness of evil and where affinity will replace domination and harsh command. I believe in a world where every human being exerts themselves to the maximum, because they have the reason to, because they believe in a purpose, and because they have been provided the resources to commit to it fully rather than be distracted by the energy-sapping facets of poverty, greed, disability, powerlessness and unchivalric attitude of the controlling few.

I believe in a world where belief prevails and union is the soul of discussion. I believe in a world where the common interest is widespread and where the musings of selfishness are curbed, and converted or eliminated. I believe in a world where two nations bordering each other are not on opposing corners of the universe and where those who are, are so purely because of physical distance and not any lack of outreaching ability or effort.

I believe in a world where the rulers will sit together on carpets of tar in-front of the teeming millions of inhabitants and the city dwellers who make up a hundred and one percent of a civil society. I believe in a world where they will talk openly about what has been done and what has to be done and what the people who will be affected by these think about it. I believe in a world where the people will be selfless enough to not drive the agenda and their needs only and actually perpetuate a form of action that will imbibe fairness into every grain of sand, every crystal of salt, every tear-shaped drop of water, every weathered and cut line in the flesh of human beings and animals.

As intelligent beings our primary function is to use this intelligence for the progress of mankind and his environment; socially, economically, spiritually. So the question to pose is, is it natural that we tend to differ on aspects of existence down to the very last minitae due to unhindered thought processes, vastly contrasting living circumstances and methods of personality development? Or is it a paradox because we have just one supreme goal in common and thus our lives should theoretically be engineered such as to promote the smooth flow of man's direction toward it?

Until I have the answers to these questions and more, I'm pretty sure my world is just a belief. But then again, maybe, maybe - that is our starting point. Belief.

hsn

All over the world

Money rings
Cash tills
Millionaires
All over the world

Sweat drops
Back-to-waist
Construction worker
All over the world

People think
Give or not
Inaction
All over the world

Child dies
Poverty
Laid to rest
All over the world

Friends party
All you can waste
Twenty bucks
All over the world

Mother cries
Nothing to give
Ashamed
All over the world

Cat purrs
On carpet
Just fed
All over the world

Man sleeps
Pavement pillow
Today's home
All over the world

Man flies
Two wings
Holiday
All over the world

Man flees
Two legs
Bombing
All over the world

Boy feels
Writes poem
Forgets
All over the world...

Image credits: xedos4 / freedigitalphotos.net

The Defeatist Attitude

The defeatist attitude hovers around one like a vulture, hoping to swoop in and pick up the remains of a wounded ego. It encircles a soul bubbling with frustration, telling it in a deceivingly soothing tone, that giving up is the best choice, it’s the right option, a man has to do what a man has to do and so on. 

The skin vibrates and the brain keeps expanding and contracting in a break-point throb. Finally, the human volcano ruptures, pushing one into a state of paroxysmal rage, heart beating wildly with impatience, until agitated motor neurons wrap the fingers around an object, wanting to fling it onto the glass table in the room corner, imaginatively fully destroying both and not doing a bit to relax the impulse that has grown irritated of dormancy.
 

The anger plunders one of all rationality; thought is unbecoming and a thoughtful absorption of the consequences unwelcome. The only controlling aspect remaining now is emotion, which as it turns out, can manage to turn around its contagiously damaging ego by administering, in the human being, a feeling of guilt by which it may realize the extent to which the fingers have actually extended themselves. This new drug, which although cannot do anything to extract the anger within, can sometimes inject itself deep enough to momentarily paralyse the movements and stop the carnage.

The anger condenses from a lightening and thunder cloud into a river of denial and then comes the quid pro quo of bargaining. Its not fair. The complaints pour out. Arguments follow and the unjust words pelt the human conscious like rain on a car windshield in a midnight forest. In the foreboding darkness enough time is given for changes to occur, resulting in a thick steam that blocks everything except the guilt that is the only key to accessing the dominion of self-control.

Then slowly, just so little-by-little, true to the miraculous nature of the whole colour spectrum paying obeisance to the sunrise and floating along the rays of the morning star, the wind of clarity arrives to play its part as it blows away gently at the black ashes of the angry soul, tenderly unclothing it of the remnants of the scars of ire, caressing it with a cold breeze that drives away the hawking spirits.

Its ok if it isn't fair. I'll just have to get along with it.

And so high emotion downshifts and heads into the slow lane, content to be left behind, knowing it has been subdued. The veracity of the matter appears as white-robed hope. The bells of acceptance ring.

Maybe we can't win everything in life.
 
Maybe its impossible.
 
Maybe we might not even like to, because it'd most likely be at the expense of others.
 
Maybe sometimes we are too involved in ourselves to understand what we'd really like to have.

The raising of the hands signifies acceptance. The handshake signifies unity. The leaving signifies its all over.

In the end, its a win - over the defeatist attitude.

hsn

Sincerity

Sincerity is a drop of water;
Silent in its falling,
Pleasant when occurring,
Lost within the others.

Image credits: Phaitoon / freedigitalphotos.net

Airport

A small light situated on the runway flickers on every two seconds or so somewhere in the corner, officiating an atmosphere populated densely with the still, early-morning quietness that can only be encapsulated in places where the intensity accompanying a lack of sound signifies its seriousness. Sometimes the light forgets to count and misses a second. Most who are lucky to witness this usually criticize silently, forgetting that it is, after all, only a light.

And almost as if a fog of drowse seeps through narrow corridors and wide spread lobbies, chairs line up from side to side with all types of people united in the deepest realms of sleep. It’s as though if all those people weren’t there, the chairs wouldn’t be, either.

Only the odd bored introvert refuses to part with his thoughts, remaining awake to draw imaginary thought bubbles over the faces of unsuspecting sleepers, hoping to make his day by finding just one person with which he could have an intelligent discussion. A free meal and chocolate discounts will work for the rest.

A beep every once in a while from a scanner of some sort tries to set a standard of efficiency but is easily humiliated by a dedicated band of midnight man-nannies calling themselves police who patrol the high corridors in a childish golf cart. In a mysterious way their laughter echoes soundlessly in the halls they tour but reverberate strangely in the fantasies of a dreaming traveler who has his earplugs on.

In a way, everything talks at night. Pages of books flicked all too many times in a bookstore by bejeweled fingers always tell you they should be bought on discount. Empty tissue boxes always play a trick on you. Even above the ceiling, hiding in the ventilation shafts are not ninja assassins but loyally humming air conditioning units that rumble in their own language. They express in iciclessss.

The sound of a coin refused and landing in the return vault of a vending machine that has run out of chocolate milk and change puzzles the small, cute five year old Japanese girl standing in front of it. But she knows what she wants, points at it and commands the machine to obey - pink hoodie and everything. Challenged, the machine gives in and the cardboard pack comes tumbling down.

There is no truth to the Max Payne-esque notion that if time slows down, so does space and material. There is no truth to the opposite too though. One learns to appreciate this on break when food that was meant to be enjoyed over an hour has to be gorged down in a second and what was supposed to be digested in a second has extended beyond an hour, three lavatory breaks and even defeats the 5 am toilet rush.

As the sun rises, rays chase you until the feeling of lightness overtakes, bringing into balance the function of night and day. The world begins to spin again and suddenly you see Chinese going to Iran, Iranians eating Mexican, Mexicans going to Russia, Russians boarding onto India, Indians going to Germany, Germans flying to Germany, Brazilians going to Germany, Americans not going to Germany and so on. In fifteen minutes the true meaning of the term 'melting pot' is seen congruent with its physical namesake as one indulges in a feast of cultures, histories and traditions.

And as another midnight shift in an airport comes to an end, you realise that that's okay, because every day the sun shines... is a good night.

hsn

photo: Baggage trollies at Dubai International Airport Terminal 3, Departures Level. Credit: Unknown