Without the night, I work the beast to death, toiling away, puffing hard for breath, thinking of what mess I dug myself into; wiping away the salty sweat, digging my heels into the hard ground, and stretching my shoulders. Aching to be free. Freedom. Sweet intoxicating freedom. Do I dare to dream?
This work, a cruel and sinister, punishment, blackens my face from the coal, is the only meagre work I have, sad isn’t it, that to survive I have to kill myself slowly. Its difficult, yes, back-breaking to be swallowed in these mines, a labyrinth of demonic hardship. I got to continue working, despite that my fingernails have cracked, my eyes stinging from the lack of light, my heart beats so dangerously fast and my old bones seem to want to break.
I take this heavy punishment, I take this suffering. Its frustrating me to see my body hurting, the intense pain, to be totally completely free, to walk under the sun, feeling the sunshine on my face, to let the wind engulf my battered body, and to inhale the crisp fresh air into my lungs.
Such is what I dream of. Its not impossible. It will happen, tomorrow. No, no, it will happen now.
Zashnain
An avid blogger, twitterer and photojournalist, Zashnain Zainal suffers from an incurable addiction to social work, helping marginalised communities since 1989. Nowadays he travels from the plantations of Malaysia to the slums of Thailand. He can be found at zashnain.com and @bedlamfury
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