Apparently the forum is an open one, and we could write whatever we want. So I write about what is closest to me.
The Soul, The Heart, The River!
I lie in my bed and stay awake, wondering about the culture that I grew up in and which I am unable to shrug. All around me I hear superficial and fake talk and wonder how people don’t mind not covering their falsehoods with apologies or the semblance of shame. I lie awake and wonder about the culture I live in now. I sometimes wonder a…bout my loneliness… not just being alone in a different world, but the real gnawing feeling of loneliness.
Did my culture teach me all the wrong things? I examine my soul. It doesn’t have a culture. It just sits there like a petulant child in a class room, full of talented and gifted kids. My soul has no nation, I think all souls have no nations, no color, and no race. My soul has no accent of Urdu or English or Mexican or French. But my soul is turbulent. It recognizes truth and falsehoods, and it distinguishes sorrow from joy. And in my heart when this turbulence occurs, my soul cannot find peace.
It’s like the river. It runs through me. Perhaps there is a river that runs through all of us regardless of where we come from, or where we are going. It is my soul, it is the river of my heart, and the desire of this aging heart.
All peoples of all nations, should open their hearts and listen to the whispers of their souls, and differentiate the right from wrong, and truth from politics!
Zakiah Sayeed. August 7th 2015.