SITTING UNDER THE ACACIA TREE I sat under the acacia tree with none but my turbulent thoughts and volatile emotions. Questions about why the weather was never just ideal and well balanced triggered feelings of inadequacy of our creation deep within me. Is this the ultimate abode, with its imperfections and crookedness? The occasional chattering bird seemed to always have that worm dangling by its mouth, yet it seemed unfazed by its vulnerability to the elements and predators that stalked it from to time to time. I, sitting right there thought of that poem that i once wrote troubled by the vanity that life and death posed and presented unto us. So we live and then we die. Meaning we are dead even before we live for we shall still die even as we now live. It was titled The Dead are not foolish. for the dead are not the only ones as even among the living are the soul dead. When death comes imposed upon us by the hand of man, the soul gnashes its teeth as one life fights to take the other. Animal instincts pitch in as one screams and begs for sanity from his killers. The killer too has to die inside before he could clobber or strangle the pleading soul to its visible and painful death. why are you killing me, your fellow being, the dying would ask. as the beast inside the killer sets in and masters enough artificial anger to stop the victim from attempting to establish that soul to soul connection. As the dying slowly gives in and lets go of the fight, the killer sets out a little cry as a small part of him dies within. That last terrified stare of the strangled as he sought mercy remains etched in his heart as he privately feels pity for the innocent yet marked for death. For what? Power? Food? Pleasures and Comforts? Power never resides in one compound for good, like death it hops from one end to the other. It is unto like a toxin, ready to consume once in excess. Food? Isnt this the source of discomfort, compelling that the not so honourable bathroom drill be observed obediently? Its only good when placed on the table and arranged decoratively. Once the tooth bites its and mixes it with saliva the story changes into a messy mixture that the saliva makes into a pulp that then is never a marvel to watch if ever were to be interrupted and sent back off the mouth again.Its the same one that gets to rot and cause noses to turn the other way. With time the vessel that has had pleasures and comforts gives in to frailty and turns back to its infirmity of infancy. The aged enjoys looking at their selves no more. The faculties of thought slowly shut down as the joys and comforts of existence carry meaning no more. Death becomes a good calling as pains riddle the body and the frame carries the tired soul a step at a time to the gaping grave.For what then did this vessel traverse the earth killing and denying others of the momentary fruits of existence? Some are known as death approaches, to voice out all their bad deeds just before their souls finally depart. Others get to be in-coherent both in thought and in utterances when their exit is now nigh. For what had we existed therefore? How and why had we been brought into existence in the first place? To follow our animal instincts and fight for food and mating partners? What then sets us apart from donkeys making out in plain view without the slightest bit of shame? What of dogs doing it just about anywhere? Dont us humans have anything divinely inherent that makes us any different? Died like a Hero, yeah! Died like a fool boooo, But death knows no royalty for neither could do anything to the fly that moves into their mouth while there lying supine. The dead are not the only ones for in death we all roll up our eyes to plead with the soul not to leave us there all alone. And yet rise and rise it will till it reaches the heavenly or at times the hellish abodes. Silence. Till they come singing with the frame as the soul now looks on and then dives into the grave to wait right there by the helpless stiff frame, Then the two angels, Munkar and Nakir then sit there by the once living. Question time. Do you know this man? yes or no. What did you do with the time you were given up there? Tell us about your good deeds. As every morning a window is shown for either the heavenly or the hellish abode. Had we lived well, gardens of bliss we are shown with all the sweet scents and melodies there. Had we lowered ourselves to beasts, the grave gets narrowed as the ribs almost cross over and break in excruciating pain. A window into smoldering fires and wailing voices of hell is thereby shown as the killers abode come judgement day. So, For What do those who kill do such a painful deed?
Posted on: Thu, 31 Jul 2014 18:09:09 +0000
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