Primed to be sinners

 

Ingenious ways of killing, not to give death but make life so difficult with pain and torture that even death seems salvation, a favor if someone takes mercy and ends the torture, life itself.

Death approaching so slowly, with painstaking bits, as to make it maid of honor. The tortured body dying with urge to embrace it.

Life dysfunctional, the only function left—to cease to exist.

That’s the benchmark of human cruelty. Not of killing; but of making life so painful as to make death a reward, a favor; of turning it reverse—making one anti-life, the survival instinct feeling like a demon, the worst enemy one can have.

All this is clearly written in the open book full of petrified details of fossilized past. The book of bloodied history—visible-invisible wounds and cuts at individual, collective and institutional levels—chronicling mankind’s gravity-defying will to inflict pain at all costs in any situation.

The ugly ducklings ruling from the dark underbelly. The palace and seat of governance above glittering with polished protocols and illusionary facades.

The flimsy make-believe textures, tastes, complexity of flavors, tangy sauces, herb-spiced flavors, the roof-top parties, the apparent truth and beauty ruling the world. While in reality, ugliness and falsehood running the machine.

The dark gods of hypocrisy ruling like the utmost sovereign, ordering royal princes and father king to be murdered, usurping the crown, celebrating their memories, ordering a magnificent mausoleum for the murdered kin for offering prayers for the peace of their souls.

The foundation is cruelty; love is merely a duping façade.