Through the Eyes of a Duck

My eyes burn with sleep. But I somehow cannot put my laptop away and treat myself to few hours of shuteye before I face this cruel world once again. The reason why eludes me.

I am not a philosopher, I am not an intellectual, hell, I’m not even a guy who knows the first thing about.....anything in fact. I am good at, however, reading people. People have always befuddled me. I yearn to delve behind their eyes and ascertain the intricate working of the brain myself. Why do they do what it is they do? Why must they resort to such lowly tactics in order just to say, "I told you so". Why must we not pride ourselves on being humans? Why must we resort to sheer brutality?

The pages of history are filled with blood splattered accounts of the sick ambitions of a few men. Adolf Hitler felt the need to impose Germany on Europe and began the rape of a continent. The repercussions of which we are still witnessing to this day in the Middle East. But do we raise our voices and beg and yearn and plead to our leaders to do something, anything, anything at all to make a difference and pass on the strained voices of the masses? No. We do not. We tune into News channel, listen to news about car bombs, IEDs, IDPs, national calamity this, terrorism that with a passive face and we switch over to the first movie channel we can think of. I know i do. I'm more interested in what’s coming over HBO than what going on in the Gaza Strip. I'm more eager to learn what has happened to Ted in How I Met Your Mother rather than educate myself on the evils of the current decade. I spend my days sleeping while i could be somewhere, anywhere, trying to do.....more.

I'm boring you, yes I am. But I need to let someone know that the world is finite. We are finite. Everything we do is finite. We bitch, we moan, we point our fingers to blame but we never do anything. We wish we could do something but we don’t. And that’s all we're good for. Wishing. I wonder what the emaciated mother in Nigeria is wishing for. The penniless father sitting outside his camp in Sukkur wishing for, the child nursing his bullet wound in Sarajevo wishing for. I wonder what you wish for.