The Two Ancient Myths

I imagine security to be like a feast of the 'high society'. It begins at a precise time, everyone arrives and is greeted properly, there is dress code, a certain manner you are obliged to follow. You have a certain place at a predetermined table set for you - that is of course if you are invited at all - and it is also decided who sits next to you. The courses of the meal are the same for everyone, each to be served and finished at the same time. Even if you like one course way more than the rest, you never order for more and eventhough your shoes are killing you you still walk in them with elegance and grace. You never say what you want to, you do not do what you want to, you can only dance to the music chosen for you and you follow the steps. You smile and are friendly towards everyone. You drink but never get drunk.

And Peace, well peace is like a street festival. Everyone is invited, no one cares who you are, where you come from, why you are here, who is with you, when you come and when you go. There is music for every taste and food of every kind raise tempting smell in the air. It is loud like hell and people walk in any direction they want. You can dress as you like and dance as you wish. You can sing to the music, mosh or dance crazily and even if you just stand there, no one cares. The tech support is not the best and most of the time neither are the musicans. You can grab a beer and burp as loudly as you want. You can dance with a stranger or start a small talk with anyone, since no one is really disturbed by your presence. Nothing is in its right place because there are no places to begin with. There is no order in it, there is no certainty, it is crazy, it is messy and most of the time leaves a lot of trash on the street but every one goes home with a tickeling notion of happiness.

And I am sure, there'll always be enough volunteers for cleaning up the trash and getting the drunken back home. 

The Wind

The wind sounded much heavier that day, since it was loaded with a grave burden.

Ever since that day, it has been carrying all the cries which were not to be heard; some out of fear, some of agony, some of pain and some of grief.

There were cries for justice, cries for revenge, there were cries of rage and those which bore the sacred mark of freedom. All the silenced voices, all the dried up tears, all the congealed blood, the smell of sweat, the stench of the dead, it'll all be on the wind now.

And the wind sounds heavier than ever these days.

It is no longer refreshing neither feels good when caressing over the face; rather imposing a fierce pressure on the chest.

Until a heavier rain washes everything away...