The Long Lost

Crushed hopes for a better life while sitting on the black couch of ignorance. Images reflection in a box, of a pitiful existence passed waiting for the end. Alone, isolated and scared, she sits in her corner away from others. Her days spent in cage, located next to thousands of similar structures holding just as many per, makes her feel secure. In the streets she walks, afraid to look up in case she would come across someone actually trying to make eye contact. People are so insane, she might get attacked at any moment, she knows. Sitting in the bus, she hears a baby cry and while it reminds her about how having a family would be an interesting idea, that noise bugs her. Why can’t he just shut up? Why isn’t his mother doing something about it? She just raises the volume of her ipod and closes her eyes. The music takes the pain away, yet the lyrics of her favourite song drift her in deep thoughts… ”what is it I’m after, searching for desaster, watching my own life flash in front of my eyes…we’ve been given answers, through walking cancers, dressed up as life…”

A single tear falls down her cheek to crash into nothingness on her jacket, as she forces her eyes to remain closed, hiding away the pain. It can’t be the way it is supposed to be. Yet how could one wish for more. More while looking around to find people, acting exactly like the other yet so isolated from one another.

A single number among billiards of different, yet identical beings. Why would one, actually change something to the equation, she wonders. Holding on the thought that she does matter at work, that she is essential when she is not, unacknowledged agreement between her thoughts and reality…she keeps going. But where, where should she be heading now. Why should the path, or even the arrival point matter. It does not. Depressed, like all those clones, she can’t see, she doesn’t want to understand.

On the way home, an Illuminate screams for unity passed their differences. Injustices being listed as things that can actually change, she hurts. Why can’t he just shut up? Our lives aren’t complicated enough yet? Within the crowd, she hears her name. Looking to the ground, she wonders if she is not only hallucinating voices within the masses. A large hand sits on her shoulder as she steps back immediately. A friend, apparently. Startled, easy talk goes and quickly ends. Does he really care? He doesn’t. Nor does anyone. Does she even care? She highly doubts it.

The Illuminate’s voice suddenly catches her attention as the words “pain” “we all suffer” “This is not how it is supposed to be. This can’t be life.” “What if he was right?” “Why does he think what I think?”, she mumbles. Nothing more but a flash of light just as rapidly gone because obviously, he must be another of those charlatans trying to gain from those still having hope for changes. He states various possibilities and the group surrounding him applauds and rejoices as if there was no tomorrow. As the speech finally ends, the group suddenly return to random individuals, walking away their lonely path back to their own cage. A ray of sunlight in their life if nothing else, but at least she knows that she won’t be disappointed as she did not listen more than required.

Painful way to the cage as individuals unable to own one, beg for help. Why should they deserve any while she does not manage to obtain any? Her own existence falling to piece should earn others the right to ask for more than what she has? Be they called miserable; those who dare begging those who worked hard for what they have, as if they could have it any easier than the rest of them.

Knowledge taken away from birth by others, while kept away by her own will, as she grew up. Is there a solution to such lack of evolution in the human nature? Why does she want friends, feel this incomparable need to talk to someone, while she wouldn’t even care if someone decided to talk to her about his life. It is divided that they stand, looking for gains instead of their happiness, because no more is there any belief of true happiness within poverty. Values as she heard of as a child are long lost and will never come back. When you are born for less, you cannot earn more than what is ready to be distributed your way. Desperate, it is by the window that she watches her life walk away on its own, she knows.

- Sabbi

Main resource

Stuck in a system where the rusted gears endlessly falter, the man satisfies himself of his proletarian status. He only sees that reality which eats his dreams and ambitions, accepted and forever acclaimed. How many times, have we been told that “It has always been like that.” “At your age, I was thinking just like you.” “You don’t have a choice.”. Asleep within that pre-defined frame, unable to see past his own cage, mankind perceives itself as free. Free to choose, free to establish its own way of living. An illusion of freedom, in order to maintain productivity. Vicious circle that has for unique goal the destruction of human’s intellectual matter. Materialist, consumer, ignorant or well-informed…he remains nothing more than a prisoner in endless research of happiness.

Are we so numb that we are unable to see the wheel spin? Are we so dishearten, that we prefer to keep our eyes closed on our present, our future and our past? How can we accept to live under such conditions without having words on our life?

We are deafened by the noises that the machine produces, scatterbrained by its lights and emblems. How can we sit and watch for nothing but a moment, the movement of that wheel? Contemplate with aggravation the deterioration of our existence. Reduce to nothingness all efforts because lonely men that you are, needless to wake up, this dream is so much better.

Far away, we perceive that soothing mirage. A soft breeze brushing the coast while by a single day off, we enjoy that view, oh so pleasing. The racket so familiar is no more. But by a snap of the fingers, has already returned. Vain hopes too often unhealthy: this is the symbol of happiness that human clings to.

We don’t have time to think. We are born on this planet, as main matter for that industry that destroys the mankind potential as we have known it. The resource, tireless, reproduces and when one doesn’t do it anymore, another will know just better how to oil the equipment. Like a cannibal, our predator watches us, spies on us. He will know soon enough when the moment of renewal will arrive, devouring its prey still tender.

And he watches the wheel spin, a subtle smile caressing softly the rigid features of his face. He knows. Main matter, not only are you crafting wonderful gadgets, but you know better than anyone, how to use them. Of that piece of paper, like a magician, you will bring me thousands back. Don’t ever ask for more than your bread, because never, oh never, will I tolerate such insolence. This is mine, be happy of what is yours.

And we will watch the beast feast on our brother, because we are free. We will not say word, because we are comfortable. We earn our bread; he did not even know it tasted. But whatever…my crumb is fresh, and this nest is but more mine.

Comes the day where the grain becomes rare. We cannot earn our bread, because it has disappeared. We cannot earn our water, because he drank it all. But whatever…we are comfortable. …we were comfortable. Today, we do not have enough to live on, and that wheel, of which we were hearing the gentle cog, stopped spinning. We have, as well, stopped existing.

- Sabbi