Anybody, Please, make me a Prisma outta this:


I wonder and always end up losing myself in an endless wilderness, wondering what the heck the world-conscience stands for. Whatever this bullshit signifier refers to, it never fails to declare its sublime emergence in the hands of media to illumine the gravity of images like that of the Syria-boy, pulled out from the dust and rubble of a ripped off home, sweet home! in the war-torn Aleppo. They say the masterpiece poking at our motionless emotions give yet another punch-undoubtedly with the mighty strength of a kindergartner – to the biggest show on earth (in terms of Shakespearean comedy, the one and only WORLD Conscience.


Smile please, World Conscience wanna take a Selphie:


“What a piece of work is a man!…The beauty of the world. The paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?”

(William Shakespeare: Hamlet)


Well, whatever Mr. Shakespeare intends to mean or however Hamlet cordially correlates us, the greatest creation on earth, to quintessence of dust, we do not need to go any deeper, nor do we need to be poetic enough to have a clear shot on the boy: the literal epitome of the quintessence of dust, dressed in the dust of the world, decorated with the ornaments of war, shouldering the greed of the war-lords….. A great piece of work indeed, with one eye being compromised to dust-smothered blood and the other one with the look that goes nowhere: so meaningfully blank, so artistically shell-shocked, just enough to tie down the tides of pain, agony, fear, despair, and despondence smeared into it.


Life Goes on, Statistics Changes

Syria’s pre-war population of 24.5 million goes down to 17.9 million, with half a million becoming the shadows of sighs to the world and finding themselves in the statistical reports of the humanitarian groups. We played with our emotions a lot enough with Aylan, the 3-year old toddler whose lifeless body washed up to the beach near a RESORT city. And, now with Omran. For God’s sake, media, let the World –Conscience go squandering, leaving our noses buried down in Aylan’s shore:

“Theirs not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why

Theirs but to do and die:

Into the Valley of Death.”

(Alfred, Lord Tennyson: The Charge of the Light Brigade)



One thought on “Anybody, Please, make me a Prisma outta this:

  1. […] Source: Anybody, Please, make me a Prisma outta this: […]

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