Definitely Nameless !

"I am ashamed of belonging to the human race". I am ashamed and disgusted by the skin I wear and the blood I warm. At eleven, Mohammed Dorra died in front of me, some meter or two away from my eyes, inside a big black box, on a wooden low table, between a father’s arms. Not in a hospital, not in a bed, not by a heart attack! No ! Those were bullets … triggers in guns … fingers of Men! I didn’t know then that that was “The” confession! That was it! I was no longer fooled, not lied at or told things anymore! “things, things, things, Dammit”! Things embellished with colorful paints and furs, easy on the eye and soft on the touch … Truths yet to peel! Only then humanity's tongue slipped and unintentionally confessed that I, too, was in an awful world and belonged to an awful race.

Some fingers killed Mohammed and some similar ones extinguished my candle flame of life.

 

But that was just the beginning … that was an introduction … an appetizer. Because when I close my eyes now, with Mohammed I see blood on dust from holes in bodies … bodies laid one on another And next to the other, one on another Or next to the other…forgive me, the imagery is so graphic and intense I look away and look back then back and forth, now I don’t make the difference where the bodies are relatively laid anymore. With Mohammed I see more fresh still warm blooded but lifeless bodies of beautiful skin and hair not washed and buried, not respected and dignified for the bit of life it once dared to taste; fresh still warm blooded but lifeless bodies of beautiful skin and hair raped! Goodness, raped! Still rapped????? Dead and raped????

Why?! How?!
 

What more ? Here is more !

 

I see scenes of childbirth and I hate mothers and shout at doctors: PUT HER BACK IN, GET HIM BACK IN! Years go by and babies grow and cross my ways and I feel sad for them. I feel sad and wonder:
Who will be their Mohammed Dorra? (If not Mohammeds themselves)
Hein ?! ..

Cause there Will be more of him, way more than what I- or you- can imagine; so much more we will lose the count or abandon the list.

 

I see dictated masses and wrinkled faces and burning fires and liars and filthy prisons and colorless seasons and full cemeteries of deserted tombs and loud bombs and history books and fear and authority and Death!!! I see, smell, spit Death! Then I see empty beds … empty streets … empty faces... I see silence ... and I am convinced there is no hope! 

And at the end of this gallery, this display, there is one more piece of art work, a master piece crafted, designed and studied by the chosen race. A portrait meticulously cared for, and delicately hanged and royally framed. A portrait of an evil-wicked-terrorizing-smile, pending from the right but not too stretched in avoidance of coming across as less evil; even the dimple is suicidal and almost inexistent from fear of being too close to the tip of the lip to catch!

 

And at the end of this display that my memory vomits every night, don’t you dare congratulate me on knowing this little about us and our wars. Don’t congratulate anyone for being outraged or take it as a sign of cultivated knowledge. Don't you dare say "it's okay" ... Don't you dare to even try to deviate my attention ...
In fact, I now dare and declare I want to leave you, you, you and this knowledge, with this knowledge, with this burden for You to declare and dare to carry.
I wish I never read, I wish I never saw or heard or smelled or felt. I wish I never knew!

Education?!... knowledge?! They're all a curse and I envy the blind and the deaf for their handicapped knowledge.

 

“God will not forgive us”, God should not forgive us!