Death of a None
Never so much kind was destiny against any other person, in any other time, in any other world, not even in wars for which billions throttled each other. Because I have had the most beautiful reason in the world to feel the pain and to ask for death. A reason more sacred than the love of a nation, more touchy than the touch of the Heavenly God, more suspicious than the suspicion of the theory of existence.
Back off happiness. I have not abandoned the pains yet and I will not. Still do not I deserve those tears? Then no one does. Joy is washed up with pride here. I do not see any brave man still standing on his feet, still defying fate to which I have already hoisted a white flag and accepted the defeat.
Yes this is. This is the death of a None. A death required to become some one, some day, with the same musical sound of Israfel, with the same fear, with the same worry we all carry, having entrusted all inequalities and desparities to God’s safekeeping. I don’t owe anything to anyone, not even to my parents. Aren’t we all victims of momentary pleasures or momentary mistakes? And again will we not sacrifice any sons or daughters for the same momentary pleasures or mistakes? What are we then? A circle of pregnancy of pain? I owe only those lines to my existence. It worked for nothing else.
Goodbye to all temporary zeals. I have set my sail for immortality through a mortal action, death. With the death of a None, me. Just to find a real thing, just to do the only real thing that we all have come for. To become some one, some day, I die …
my