I have an identity that I do not recognize.
A picture of a face that I barely remember. A name that I did not choose myself, a birth date that lacks the date of my death, and the name of my father. My father who wanted me to be important, but whom I disappointed by repeating the name of Pessoa’s book every day and everywhere (I am not important): I am the darkness, I am the shade of the tree of sin, I am the remains of a wreck, I am a broken crystal fragment, I am a burning match stick, I am a lost cloud, I am nothing, I am something I do not know!
In the identity, there is the name of my mother. My mother who used to see me with an eye that the world couldn’t see me in. But the truth is clear, my mother. I will remain fragile in front of the ugliness of the world because our existence is a tax forced to pay. Many things we pay for, yet we do not know the reason. We, who satisfy a little, everything and a lot of it, is death. Like water, little life with many drowning. They lied to us, mum. Until now, we did not see the straw that saves us. Our faith was in one straw, that brought our destruction. This straw, my mother, broke out a fire in us and we are not prophets, my mother so that God is our luck.
In the identity, there is the name of the country to which I belong: the countries that have become desolate. I do not blame anyone for that. Who am I to do that? Who are they to complain about or against them? Who hears? Who cares! Who cares! There is no god among men, that is our salvation from atrocity, or between the idols that they made and worship them that will save us!
Our wars will not end. Human beings are disguised as monsters, and ruin will be everywhere. And we will continue to flee and run away. We who refuse to kill until we end up miserable will either commit suicide or time will have a hand in our death, the dictatorial ruler who does not have authority over him.
One crazy person said it, and I believe him like madness. “All countries become ruins when your heart does not belong to any place and time. All countries become hell when the paradise inside you dies.”
by Demus Munene