A poor woman was passing with her three children, laughing and blushing; and you realize it’s not about poverty at all. Not even if some are without shoes.
But other times, you see poverty ridden faces, freckles, hunger, unliveable homes, and medical problems; and you realize it is all about poverty.
There was a big banner of a big landlord contesting in upcoming elections under which the woman with three children was passing. That landlord has everything. Yet, the banner was all about begging for votes. And you realize, poverty is not even in the equation of begging.
And finally, all of a sudden, it’s all about death. The milestone. The full stop. The laughter will die. So will the hunger. And poverty. And begging. And everything.
How important is life? We know that. But death is more important. It’s an end to everything that causes pain. It’s an end to everything that gives vanity. And pride. And the develish desire to keep poor poor. And rich rich. And sick sick.
A laughter is about a joke. A joke that can make you laugh once or twice. Or thrice. Then it dies. A pain isn’t a joke. It never dies. It never tires itself away. But if you look in your past and relive the painful moments, they don’t feel painful anymore. They feel nothing. And sometimes, they feel just like another joke that lived it’s life.
But then there are some perpetual pains. That live forever. Makes you numb. You don’t even need a drug when you nurture your everlasting pains.
That poor woman laughing with her three children, is a woman who lived that moment. Before death. And the landlord shall face a defeat. Will become a defeated face in his society. And he won’t be able to laugh.
And I would stay the same, looking outside my window for faces and feces all at the same time.
Guess who had the last laugh?
Death. For everyone. To everyone.
