Stream Of Consciousness

By Fathima Zayaan

You must see how this could be you. You must see how you could be the very thing you’re against. You must understand your opposite to live freely as you are.

How can you ignore what is happening? If your choice is to be quiet about it now, there will come a time when you wish others are loud for your cause. What reason will you give when they ask you why you turned away? If your choice is to hide behind the walls of a larger society now, there will come a time when the larger society will gut you behind your back.

You cannot ignore grief. You cannot ignore cruelty. Yes, you are not made to process fierce distress or the traumatic generational baggage of masses of people. Do not lose yourself. Do not forget your life. But you cannot go against humanity.

“Do not die” is the basic condition for life. But we’re alive at a time when “Do not die” is a harrowing cry for help. “Do not die” is a plea. “Do not die” is a prayer. “Do not die” is a children’s rhyme. “Do not die” is a dream.

You have to reflect on your values if you think the world is alright today. You have to check your privileges if you feel the world makes sense.

It’s all still going on. Cries are drowned by drones flying overhead but there is no end in sight. Little children who danced around in their pink homes are now refugees in pits that are endless with bodies. Old people are seldom spotted. Extreme hunger and poverty is no more an issue of the textbook for these people. Their ribs are burning under the direct sunlight. There is no poetry to be found in this bloodshed. This is not a literary dungeon for metaphrasts. This is a war with real people who are dying and real people who have the capability to help but still do nothing.

Are you willing to be treated the same way? Are you willing to stand in shoes sized larger than yours ever will be? They are being worn by kids as young as a few minutes old.

You must see how this could be you. How your dreams could have been different. How your cries could have been collective. How your spade could have been digging your grave instead of the garden. How your home could have been a cemetery. How your clothes, food, and water is a privilege. How your mornings could have been grey. How your life could have been unfair, uncomprehending, and uninhabitable.

And when you do, there is hope.

You must see how this could be you. 

By Fathima Zayaan