What Is It To Be Alive?

Blog Poem

Standing at the edge of the city, surrounded by the twisted buildings, grey from the ever-constant smog, suffocating the life out of remaining surviving trees, and watching helplessly at the sight of utter misery dwelling of poverty;

Poverty has name, a cruel almost indescribable brand, the word that people dare not speak of, a word darkened by spite, a meaning of rot and social carnage; Ignorance.

The sky lacks the light, the air is fermented with an arrogance of greed, while everyone conforms to a single perception of compliance, but where is the value of life?

Try as much as possible to be whole; to breathe the life that we take for granted, to walk the alleyways with honesty shining through our eyes, and with a genuine and profound respect for the living and the dead; Try.

The appreciation towards your, and everyone’s, existence is fueled by the hellish realm that we live in; Oh Yes, shaking our heads to ward off the anguish, and the denial of what you and me stand for; life begins only when mortals have felt the tip of compassion sinking slowly in the heart;

You will wake up soon I am sure of this, when the thought of humanity floods your consciousness and you laugh at sadness and cry at joy; yes my friend, please do so, you will be dead soon enough.



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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