Dead men walking

Not long ago, I woke up one morning and heard a crack coming from the Earth. Without warning, everything began to fall apart. What happened? I wondered. Was this a sign from the heavens? Or was it the foolishness of men?

I stand at the cliff of this earthquake. The destruction is unfathomable. Hadn't I beckoned long enough? Was my voice not clear or loud enough? Were we not talking in the same language? Was my advice not wise enough? Was my desperation to avoid this destruction what threw you over the cliff? Was it you? Was it me? Us?

What hope is there for our world if we, after all that we have been through, cannot simply sit down and talk? What lies beyond the horizon when walk as unsynchronized bodies pretending to be our individual selves? What a ridiculous sense of self we possess! And what great egos... all blown up. Cannot, will not, take responsibility for our actions. Cannot and will not back away from our wrongs.

And you, yes... you. I know that you wake up every morning and shake the sleep of your swollen eyes from the night´s tears. One more day you kiss your babies. One more day you plan, one more meal, one more bed sheet, one more broken glass. You wake up and gather the troops. 'Let's go!' You smile although your heart is flooded with pain. But you can't help it because their eyes have this magic power to make you laugh. Their voice is the fuel that allows you to go to work and come back home and continue work, non-stop till nightfall. You wonder to yourself if this was meant to be that way. You had asked and tried for so long that loneliness began to set in as an age old friend. 'Hello friend', you whisper in the mirror... 'Here we go again...one more day... Lord give me strength.' And you pretend that your prayers and your deep breaths fill your life. Somehow you know that this was not supposed to be. Inside you are infinite amounts of joy and laughter. You miss yourself and you lost yourself in your struggles. 

And you...I don't know you well enough. But I see you engulfed and trapped in this tiny box. You are folded and pressured from all sides. I see you like a caged lion passing back and forth. Depression sets in you too, but its anger that lashes out. And you run, you run away to places where no one can find you. But your tormentor is inside you, can't you see? This judge that you have made it yours. This voice that won't shut up! This guilt that drives you further away from all that you had. You lose grip of meaning. Why live? For what? I'm not needed. I'm not good enough. 

Perhaps we are dead men walking... walking along the river's bank. You are doing exactly what was expected of you. And so am I. 

(And even in the end of this, I scream to myself: there must be a way! there must! I cannot give up! I cannot surrender to what is not beautiful and peaceful and filled with bliss!)