Published in UPI Blog.
Life is confusing and has its poisonous elements. It is unbelievable that he could have been died. It feels strange and lonely amidst a crowd of people walking back home in the evening after a day's work.
The scene outside my window is one of flowers, a large pasture and a wide, square road that can be seen into the distance. These images are also synonyms for my life. But, today, even these seem painful to watch. It is close to five in the evening. If it was winter, it would be night already, but for now, spring still hasn't ended, and the sun hasn't yet set.
"Uncle from downstairs," she said. My heart was stunned by the incomplete sentence from my friend before the telephone rang. "What trouble has occurred to our Uncle?" I asked. Breathless, she said, "He was killed." The question is why was he killed?
"I believe I can raise my children, can't I?" Uncle had said to my mother in his usual cheerful way last year. "When we are born, we come with empty hands and we will go with the same empty hands. Therefore, it is not good to die for wealth." How pleasant that evening was. Under the shining moon, their children were playing in the yard.
The sounds of birds brought alive the village and the air was full of music at the wedding of two of its villagers. "I'm a lucky man, for I married her. It might be the result of a past life's deed to get a good wife who supports me in happiness and in trouble," Uncle had said, looking out of the corner of his eyes at his new wife. "Since I married you to live and die together, it is not possible not to give support in times of need," she had responded.
I ask myself, what was Uncle's fault? He has three children, a wife and an old sick father to look after; what wrong could poor Uncle have done? He neither had enough salary to make a living nor could he send his children to a good school. Why was he died?
It is already dark now. It has darkened my heart too and feels as if it is never see light again. Instead, the infinite number of nights, lasting years, and mornings are only a hope.
Life is confusing and has its poisonous elements. It is unbelievable that he could have been died. It feels strange and lonely amidst a crowd of people walking back home in the evening after a day's work.
The scene outside my window is one of flowers, a large pasture and a wide, square road that can be seen into the distance. These images are also synonyms for my life. But, today, even these seem painful to watch. It is close to five in the evening. If it was winter, it would be night already, but for now, spring still hasn't ended, and the sun hasn't yet set.
"Uncle from downstairs," she said. My heart was stunned by the incomplete sentence from my friend before the telephone rang. "What trouble has occurred to our Uncle?" I asked. Breathless, she said, "He was killed." The question is why was he killed?
"I believe I can raise my children, can't I?" Uncle had said to my mother in his usual cheerful way last year. "When we are born, we come with empty hands and we will go with the same empty hands. Therefore, it is not good to die for wealth." How pleasant that evening was. Under the shining moon, their children were playing in the yard.
The sounds of birds brought alive the village and the air was full of music at the wedding of two of its villagers. "I'm a lucky man, for I married her. It might be the result of a past life's deed to get a good wife who supports me in happiness and in trouble," Uncle had said, looking out of the corner of his eyes at his new wife. "Since I married you to live and die together, it is not possible not to give support in times of need," she had responded.
I ask myself, what was Uncle's fault? He has three children, a wife and an old sick father to look after; what wrong could poor Uncle have done? He neither had enough salary to make a living nor could he send his children to a good school. Why was he died?
It is already dark now. It has darkened my heart too and feels as if it is never see light again. Instead, the infinite number of nights, lasting years, and mornings are only a hope.
Kamala has a masters degree in economics.
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