Tuesday, October 12, 2010

The Dictatorship of Democracy - A Reflection (2)

The declining days refused to grant us liberty. Our minds were perceived as passive and persuasive, and the colours frothed with rigmaroles designed to promote the narrators’ superiority. Shades born from mellow sunsets protected our autonomy, and together with the aged society which nurtured us, a dissenting uproar emerged which muted the efforts of colours to stain us with their indoctrination. We had recognised the injustices of which declared the necessity of natural rights to be ridiculed and reduced to a gift bestowed upon violation.

Tiny, sterile cubicles adorned with plain desks and wobbly chairs sprouted in every town and village. Each cubicle boasted of a grubby pencil attached to a length of string. Every mature citizen was expected to lead a revolution which would question the significance of trusting the magnified surnames to address the country’s needs. To our dismay, the contesting colours declared a rebellion sanctioned by power, exploiting the raw theory of nature against political dynamics. The citizens understood that the fabricated insurrection ridiculed the dignified spirit of the oppressed. But we had been tamed to oblige the despotic surnames which praised us for being an accommodating population. Beyond the safety of ancient rubble walls, we might have fallen in love with our role.

Minutes trickled into our skins, prompting us to walk towards the institutions founded to nurture our children. Groups of colours congested the pavements, regaling the shadows committed to dependability with pasted smiles or volcanic frowns. Each resonating step muffled the anthem of nature’s patriotism; our allegiance to colours whose shades we could not decipher except by name denigrated our hearts. We were taught to succumb and be scorned after making sure the graphite did not spill out of the printed squares.

My distance was parallel to the emptiness which should have been crammed with nostalgia. Peeking through the sheer drapes at the pavements burdened with empty, patronising minds, I tried to reminisce about a past prior to my birth. I was told it was an era marked by poverty, pride in a nation, and embroidered with speeches from an orator who inspired resilience in his followers.

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