Thursday, 20 October 2011

Gaddafi defeated me, the day before he died

Just yesterday, the 19 October 2011, I had broken down and reached an all time emotional low. I struggled beyond any set back I may have ever tried to contain, over what has been happening in Libya.

Video footage of a young girl, maybe 8 or 9 years old, in utter pain from a horrific injury she had suffered. Her stomach covered with a layer of soaked bandages, she laid awake as rubber gloved hands attempted to reveal her wound for the camera. The girl’s agony was unbearable. The state of the room where she was being treated was horrendous. Small pools and splatters of blood were all over the floor.  The medics eventually lift the bandages to unveil her injury. The girl’s intestines, the insides of her abdomen, were bare for the eye to see. The medics appear pushing the loose and exposed organs gently, though hesitantly, back into her anatomy’s radius. The girl was not sedated. She was not dead.

Akin to the camel, this was the straw that broke my back. I felt something physically snap inside my chest. Images, sounds and smells of all the psychotic horrors born out of Gaddafi’s repression imminently revived and simultaneously assaulted my senses. I lost the will to live.

Just a week ago, I had left tens of Libyan Facebook groups and pages, out of sheer frustration over how ripe these became for rumour and speculation to spread. People’s deaths and their emotional and physical injuries gradually seemed to be off topic. Most of the debate was destructive political bickering allegedly stirred by Gaddafi’s 5th column. The medium no longer served the purpose of exposing Gaddafi’s crimes as it did at the start of the revolution.

The video of the girl’s anguish had already been spammed by a dozen or so mindless Gaddafi apologists. Their comments didn’t add anything new. NATO- al-Qaida-Rats were accused of carrying out the attack on this and every other victim in Libya. Gaddafi was hailed a hero. Cowardice and distasteful as such comments always appeared, these weighed like a ten-ton-flood of lava, perhaps because of the incident’s reality and the time of its occurrence. My human rationale was rapidly incinerated.

I became a father, two months ago. Inescapably, my brief experience of parenthood has intensified my attention to care and affection. My attachment to my child is infinite. To me, the girl’s punishing agony was magnified by the inherent grief her parents must feel; their helplessness, their devastation and their misery.

The intent of those that assaulted the little girl destroyed the dwindling bit of fight that may have been left in me. The bloodiness and deceitfulness of conflict seemed to have killed me for once and for all. I cried more than I could comprehend. I stopped believing that Gaddafi’s evil would ever come to an end. I lost all purpose, and I lost all hope. Gaddafi defeated me, the day before he died.


Saturday, 8 October 2011

The Bowels of a Bottomless Pit

Political agendas,
rigged by gluttonous pigs and ruthless pretenders
Our dead count, still,
more life in them than those alive that choose to kill
Obeying orders,
betraying ties and bonds and borders
Chains of command weigh down truth so it can’t stand;
the work of evil’s upper hand
Conjuring the abstract rage of traitors,
raised depraved, deployed deranged and frustrated
Our cause counts, still, braving the front line
facing defaced slaves of a despot-wannabe-divine
To whom existence is a constant threat
set beyond the point of reason, remorse or regret
A debauched tool
that scavenged on the corpses of opponents of its vindictive rule
Cowardly and cruel, its creatures inapt to any moral code
Rife with bitterness and savagery; humanity and sanity both erode
Such evil never had a single stronghold
The truth, however, had never been told

People prone to exploitation
brought ruin to an entire nation
No public commiseration,
just sadistic self-interest in collective devastation
Law failed man, by whom it was created
Frequently broken; its tests misinterpreted,
its twisted long arm amputated
Money meant that by any means facts were found manipulated
Grounds for claim were fabricated,
aggrieved masses grievously sedated
Speculators dabbled in the bowels of a bottomless pit
Stuck so high up Gaddafi’s arse, all they ever saw, heard or spoke, was shit
Commentators argued, blogged and tweeted,
fake alibis and accusations tirelessly repeated
Bickering at a people’s bittersweet victory,
despite miseries pending and undeleted

Foreign intervention:
A subjective invention.
Externally, driven by interests’ retention.
Internally, determined by a nation’s natives’ intention.

عاشت ليبيا