opened twitter after a while and was dumbfounded with the news of terror attack on maternity hospital in Afghanistan. absolute horrendous massacre of new born babies and mothers whove suffered the pain of nine months just to be greeted with such barbarism. you have to stoop the levels so not worthy of humans to even think of murdering children, let alone new borns.
taliban have always proved how lowly how absolutely not worthy of being spared or shown any mercy. there must have been a special hell solely made for them. for the crimes they committed. and the burning fire that too must have been enraged of their horrific acts.
if God is displeased with this land he has legit reasons. if his wrath let the world die on its own he would be so right. if the sky decides to break apart and wreak havoc and turns everything to dust it wouldnt be so wrong. if the earth is so adamant to shatter what is left to ruin whatever remains it wouldnt be so unfair. if the world decides to die unhealed a painful lonely and silent death it wouldnt be unjust but a deserving act.
but you know whats wrong. whats unfair. what the world doesnt deserve. our awful silences. and empty laughters. and deadly ignorance. and blatant callousness. and us being alive and so content with life. when life is absolutely being so nasty so unkind so cruel to others. where normalcy returns only for a down payment. and beat the hell out of our people. with whom we might not share our nationalities. our race. our religion. our culture. but with whom we are so bounded by. humanity.
i hope kabul forgives us one day. us all. our silence. our laughter. our ignorance. our callousness.
even if it does. i wont. i wont forgive our silence. our laughter. our ignorance. our callousness.
because when people die because of someones silence. someones laughter. someones ignorance. someones callousness. they dont just die. they die a thousand deaths. they dont turn into stars to flicker later on for the people they left to mourn. they dont turn into flowers to bloom for them. they dont turn into poems either to be read aloud. they simply become ruins. shattered dreams. unfinished poetry. they simply turn to statistics. so dreadfully unjust to turn humans into numbers.