I wonder sometimes is life an eternal struggle between those yellow-purple butterfly-wings that I have so persistently anchored on my shoulders and those heavy black metal balls chained to my feet?
Is it always like that? No sooner do I rise up to the first cloud, than I found myself dropping down again...but who am I to complain, when thank God so far my family is safe... what about those families who woke up to no longer find a son... to drag themselves and bury their kids..if my pain for them has become so black inside... so dark and foggy like a broken TV, making me unable to think or write or dientangle emotions? what about their pain... a threshold I do not want to pass even in my brains.. can;t even imagine..
They say the colour of our flag has new meanings now: the red is the blood...our blood that has been shed.. the white is the burial cloth and the black is the grave... the eagle is the responsible for all that.
I have no words to write, blackness have taken all over, words seem so fragile and meaningless... nausea fills my throat...and all I can do right now is pray.
Is it always like that? No sooner do I rise up to the first cloud, than I found myself dropping down again...but who am I to complain, when thank God so far my family is safe... what about those families who woke up to no longer find a son... to drag themselves and bury their kids..if my pain for them has become so black inside... so dark and foggy like a broken TV, making me unable to think or write or dientangle emotions? what about their pain... a threshold I do not want to pass even in my brains.. can;t even imagine..
They say the colour of our flag has new meanings now: the red is the blood...our blood that has been shed.. the white is the burial cloth and the black is the grave... the eagle is the responsible for all that.
I have no words to write, blackness have taken all over, words seem so fragile and meaningless... nausea fills my throat...and all I can do right now is pray.
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