A mother speaks softly by the corpse of her young son. A son, barely old enough to talk, calls out to his dead mother and father in their coffin.A father and a husband is left behind, while the sons and the wife burn alive. A mother, whispers her last few words on the phone, before choking to death. A wife lies in her hospital bed, constantly wondering why her husband has not come to visit her. Deep inside her, she probably knows. Or maybe not.
A daughter stands proud, shedding not a single tear, as her martyred father is consigned to flames. A brother wails, finding his sister at last, bullet-ridden and blood-splattered.
I don't know any of the people mentioned above, but I cry as I watch them and hundreads of others on television. I want to reach out, tell them that like me, many out there feel for them. That we are praying for them. But I'm speechless.
I have questions though. Screaming in my head. Why? What do you, the perpetrator, gain? Power? Or a cursed life? Or both? And for how long will this continue? Do you have the nerve to come and talk? In a language that is accepted, not in the safety of your AK-47.
Does it haunt you, that you have been maledicted by people who don't even know you, but only judge you by your heinous actions? Do you realise how many families you have broken forever? Including, perhaps, some of your own? When your mother gave birth to you, she loved you, cradled you, and prayed for you. When you lay dying, hated by millions around the world, do you wonder if your mother still loves you? Does it scare you, that maybe, she does not? My worry is that you do not care. And if that is what you have been reduced to, then there is no hope for you. You, the terrorist, will only know terror. Within your head, within your heart. In this world, and beyond.
Peace will never catch up with you, forget love.
pic: getty images
