When wars rage on

Photo taken in Nimroz province, southern Afghanistan, 2010 by Marko Djurica.

Photo taken in Nimroz province, southern Afghanistan, 2010 by Marko Djurica.

His beautifully crafted face, a mask of unreadable expressions remained as neutral as ever, carefully concealing the tide of whirling emotions washing over him. He felt his blood rush up and course through his veins colouring his face a deep red. Once again his stomach churned as his insides flipped over and he took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down. His senses had all but eluded him, making him unaware of all the commotion of the big city which on other occasions never failed to energize him. His brain was alive as a flurry of thoughts washed over him once more; bringing before his eyes a sequence of pictures he had never failed to forget.

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Someday soon, we too shall fade away

His face was streaked with tears, his hands course, hard and dirty from shovelling the earth with his bare palms as he laid his tiny son to rest. With trembling lips and a hollow heart he stood up and raised his hands in a silent plea to the one above.

Bearing the burdened spirit of the death of his child, he slowly made his way back to the shelter they had erected with scraps. Despite his strong young body, he walked with the slowness and weariness of an old man, his limbs dragging the earth with each step. Continue reading

Winter is near…

I close my eyes and lift my head heavenward, feeling the cold wind prickle and sting my face leaving it red and sore with cold. My feet have long since become numb, swollen and heavy despite the presence of three pairs of socks and the  thick lining of my boots. Nothing is able to fend off the cold.

I huddle in my jacket, my hands buried deep within my pockets, seeking little comfort from the storm raging around me. Cold rain beats down hard, blown around with the might of the wind. It blows with a bone chilling ferocity, beating down upon me as though in a fit of rage. Standing still in one position is no longer a plausible option, for the wind shakes me to the very core.

The sky, once a beautiful blanket of fluffy blue clouds which surrounded a golden glowing ball of warmth has now been replaced by a bleak sheet of never-ending white and grey. The golden ball of light has long since disappeared from sight, carefully concealed behind the ferocious black clouds.

A feeling of gloom and dread has descended upon the earth. Glum faces with deep-set lifeless eyes pierce mine. People everywhere keep their heads bowed down against the cold, briskly walking trying to shake off the cold, barely acknowledging one another with a nod of their head. Despair, dejection and depression are spread around like an evil mist; a thick dense fog encompassing us all.

I take it all in, unnerved by the misery surrounding me, for I welcome winter. The season has an odd peace about it, when solace is sought in the warmth of other humans huddling together as one, seeking comfort in each other’s company behind closed doors, yet at the very same time keeping away from all forms of activity outside as though afraid of what it might bring.

Away from the lashing wind, and wet sidewalks, surrounded by a multitude of blankets and cushions with a steaming hot mug of coffee in hand, contentment finally settles in. Watching the storm then, is a pleasure.