By Yamna Baig
My morals, my aspirations my assimilation towards my culture is all but material. And with all that, I found my soul crying and dying. But, for once in life I would not mourn a death. For I am a mere shadow of wisdom cast over the world of hallucinations. I closed my eyes and heard a voice, pointing towards a dark alley I shouted with the fear in my voice, “There! Six feet under the mud, my soul is buried. Dig It up for I am lost without it. Dig it up!”
With my soul buried my thoughts shattered, my feelings perished, I ran… I ran and I found myself amid thousands of faces. Those faces were smiling, grinning and laughing, yet they were miserable, pained and depressed. I yearned for life.
Wandering and hollering in wilderness, I frantically hobbled to catch a glimpse of an appearance without a painted disguise but I found nothing but remorse. Hollow men, fake joys, mask over a mask, concealment over concealment, facts hidden, manifestations pitiful, ideas rotten and I cried for LIFE once again.
“THERE”, uttered someone pointing towards an alley. “There, under the mud of MATERIALISM your soul is buried. Dig it up for you are lost without it. Dig it up!”