An effort in support of Tamil Ealam - Part 2

Just a selfish troubled pretender to be writer like me thinking “Had I been a Lankan Tamil (Prabhakaran’s Son), what misery would denounce me?”;

Birth, tears, its fears and when life nears! The trials and tribulations of a Tamilian in Lanka on birth, growth and then death!

Birth;
A lady always hopes for an angel when in the womb, an angel when dormant but when out, a fallen angel, incensed by the sinister people around, he/shes fallen angel, not owing to axe effect but owing to Satan who influences us on being created by our mother divine, the dominant designs while he plants and she implants and the we're the ones who enjoy the silence in dormancy, use our legs to punish the one who allowed the plantation.

Lost in this word of darkness I ended this football game of mine tearing up to light, unshackling myself from the oven of flesh, the cause for my very miserly existence now. Tears as the light seemed evil, on the days I felt lighter I knew not of that which would beset me.

After all the waiting in darkness, out to find light to enlighten my life, I can see the grown ups blocking the light smiling at me as I'm out.  Mother divine is happy as I’ve ended her temporal pain, knowing not society inflicts more pain than the one felt by the flesh. Born into a world of strangers, strangled almost in a world of creation. Happy when I knew nothing, not knowing that I know nothing and becoming aware of the sad destiny ahead as I realise what truth would entail, as I grow into a Tamilian, among Lankans who kill to make a name, or was it was an old game of keeping scores?.

Living;

Then my heart became heavier with light on things my mind couldn't handle. The language of death, there lies my misery. Death, that whore of the sinister, who obeys the order of Satan. It made me realize that I won’t be alive for long. And while I live I shall witness the complete obliteration of everything and everyone known to me. My parents would long be dead, while they lived I couldn’t even afford for them a bed, now dead on the bed of death.

I felt like Jesus, without the attribute of sacrifice. I had nothing to sacrifice, as the word sacrifice symbolises me letting go of something willingly. But everything was taken from me, with no one to answer, with only me to suffer. Like Jesus I was nailed, to the top of the heap of my relative’s bodies, with others blood all over me, so much so that I couldn’t realise I was bleeding.  As years passed, parts of my mind were nailed to those bodies of memories, my mind and heart bled incessantly. I decided to voice my thought as I wouldn’t let this bleeding pass, without it being fought. While I voiced my thought, living among the dead, with only the dead to listen, I realised that it’s a failed cause that I’m fighting for. For I couldn’t gather masses with this sadness, while that which the majority looked for was their happiness.

I was a prisoner of my past and then trailed with all the bloodshed that I witness and then nailed with the silence of the dead.

Still Living?

Why was I even born? Owing to the arranged coming together, whose desire created me, as the creation had no say in it. Created in privacy, owing to intimacy and I became their fallacy. I never had a say in it, should I ask for forgiveness or should they?. They ceased to exist caring not for my existence. Witness to all that one wouldn’t forget even if he were to be cursed to take seven lives. Nothing would’ve been experienced had I been unborn. I bear all their sins and my prayers of happiness have been answered with the sorrow of capital punishment 

Prayer for freedom by homicide or independence;

If I still choose to live, then my prayer shall be for freedom to be my whore. For I have been punished by the mistress of misfortune and sentenced to a life of Indignity . Or do I choose to sleep forever, for I have seen light tainted by blood.

Death;

Of what avail is life, to a person who has lost everything while living in anticipation of death for freedom. They shot me and my prayers were answered in permanence as the pellets pierced my flesh. For the first time I see this temporal pain answer my prayers of permanence. I am no more bound by flesh nor by humanity. The pathway to heaven has been opened for me. I shall not be reborn as I have paid for all the sins of humanity. Thanks to the majority, who shall rot in hell for years to come as they’ve committed blasphemy.

Pics of my slaughter by the Lankan Army have been posted to garner sympathy for my clan

Conclusion;

Soul speaking for others alive;

We don’t need a rewind to regret, We need a forward to forget, a fast forward which has the ability to make us forget our past, very fast. Help us!!!!!!!!

It’s your voice that can help, as you witness our suffering.  Our voice hasn’t been heard; only my sufferings have been noticed, documented and flirted with by writers like the one who’s writing this post and politicians with ambition and glory hunters and inglorious majority.

Forgive me for my demented muse – My sincere apologies to the faint hearted for this post, if it were to be read and removed once posted. This effort is in no way whatsoever aimed at hurting or denigrating the sentiment of death of a young boy. Only a trial of novelty, with a hint of honesty and regret.

I feel sorrow hits harder than happiness for those living life for a lost cause of materiality, which becomes immaterial on death.

PPV