‘A niche for you, a niche for me in a world big enough for us all,’ cries the soul of a starving child in a land where no one wants to abide.
We all want a piece of Serengeti to call ours, a warm endless plain rich with all we can imagine for a lush life. Private spa’s, luxurious dishes and peep holes for observing the Jones next door while someone else’s observes us, observing them. The ridiculous nature called self, making a mockery of all we preach from the hill tops.
Ask the black men in America killed by the police, ask their family members and they would all say the same. All we wanted was somewhere to call home, to dream dreams and harvest hopes of a brighter tomorrow for the young ones.
Ask the policemen in America killed by a black sniper, ask their family members and they would all say the same. All we wanted was to do our jobs, to keep the peace and guard the properties, to diligently keep the creed to guard the world for the young ones.
Perhaps the world they sort was not the one they had, who knows. Perhaps the mind was imbibed with a faulty lens through which it viewed the world, who knows. Perhaps they have twisted souls walking around in shells with faulty labels; perhaps they were angels walking around covered in faulty shells, who know.
Perhaps we should ask another.
Ask the celebrants of Bastille Day, mauled over by a wrecked soul, ask their family members and they would all say the same. All we wanted was to celebrate life, to smile in spite of our fears, to bestow the gift of hope and strength in spirit to the young ones.
Ask the priest going about the daily worship, ask his parishioners and they would all say the same. All we wanted was a world at peace with itself and everyone, where self, gets buried in a quest to discover the eternal father.
We will never know if the world they departed was close to the one they sort, we will never know if those who booked their flights sort to create a monochrome world or simply scared of other colors outshining the glow of an ideology painted within shuttered minds. Who can we ask? Who has the answer?
Perhaps the woman in Germany, or the teenagers in America?
Perhaps the disabled victims in Japan?
Do they have the answers? Do they understand the great paradigm that is our crazy world now? Do they know where we lost the map to Serengeti?
Perhaps we lost it at the gates of Eden. Perhaps we buried it as we dug a pit to capture our ‘brothers’ on the way to Serengeti. Perhaps we conquered the world but forgot to conquer self the biggest world of them all.
… And so we set up the game with the certainty of victory but we forgot that sage referee called Time and his able assistant Karma, we underestimated their antics and quest for balance. Alas, we are living in Serengeti, it is not elusive. Sadly we forgot to ask the hare how it feels to watch the lion eat her brother. We forgot to ask the lion how it feels to watch the hyenas devour its mate. We live in Serengeti, beautiful endless plains with stories of horror at night and terrors by day.