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Rhoda A.Rageh
Democracy, glimpsed in a fleeting moment was luscious. Emotions, as was told, were reflective and effusive, joy pervasive. Artists snatched all available exposure to arrest that fleeting moment. Poems, songs, and plays abound the transient. Some of those artists are no more; some have transformed into something else, others might have become old and weary of the trade, yet the images they imprinted upon many souls lodge deeply in the psyche. With their serious universal appeal, these assertions constantly tune in for better or for worse. The idea of democracy left deep scarring and unyielding illusions - both at the same time. Imitation rendered only scenes devoid of feeling. Recapturing the essence proved costly but until now, energy was but a mirage.
Yes, an eerie numbness then descended immediately upon enthusiasm. Bewilderment engulfed ululation. Yes, a shroud was used to lay vitality in its grave. The heavy thud made by the weight of the senseless body heard miles away. No one knew what happened. Only the loss was real. The process never explained or unexplainable was not pressed. Imbecility into action was slow, sometimes regressive but stirred it did, to chance. Defiance determined destiny, into destiny drawn. Yes, it resembled thus. Amidst ecstatic rapture, an uncanny silence missed. Wicked wit it was called. Balance tipped to lack of ingenuity. Opportunity gulped by the politically savvy, so the story goes and goes with it the hope and dream of a nation.
What can it be now? Has ingenuity got any robust? One would hope so. Forty unstable years should have put some weight into bare naiveté, awaken mummies. Have they? Perhaps forty years of restlessness surrender to hallucinations. Perhaps what was discounted, as a loss at first, was a destiny of sorts - vitality, bound to die in vain. Loss was bearable then, I should think. No lives were lost. But how many have died in the long march to this? Many! Some others too, perished. Herded speedily into holds, their snatch was quick, their elimination - silent decimation. Their cry never meant to rise beyond the grave. Again only the loss was real. Their absence, a more conspicuous presence derived. Shriveled bones bore witness to obfuscation. Lamenting seems a destiny too. Like many, the process never explained or unexplainable sufficed. Loss heaped upon loss lamented. Victory dissolved and dissolving still shrinks to a moan. Thou die to defeat but inherit defeat. Not in the battlefields mind you. There, gallantry united knights. Only victory shining too bright in thy eyes falls prey. Foe seeming friendly to compromise feats. Fatuous, or faux pas? Alas! Democracy derided to ingenuity or lack of it in destiny dance.
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