Written by Ezzideen
It is now 9:44 PM. I’ve been wrestling with an idea that has tormented my thoughts for days—the grotesque power of time to revolve and mutate. Yet, the deafening roar of warplanes obliterates any semblance of peace, stripping away the luxury of thought, the solace of writing, and even the clarity needed to make decisions.
This harrowing sound is no stranger; it has been our relentless shadow, haunting us day and night. But now, at this very moment, it feels as if it erupts from within my own skull, a cruel symphony of despair.
Oh, this wretched head, how much more can it bear? When will this lunacy end? When will the world cease its insatiable bloodlust? When will humanity shed its cloak of arrogance and avarice? When will we awaken to the profound truth of our equality? When will the death of a single soul compel us all to halt, to mourn, to honor their existence with a moment of shared silence?
These questions weigh like a dark shroud, a relentless reminder of our collective fragility and the desperate, urgent need for compassion in a world teetering on the brink of its own undoing.
Ezzideen Shehab