The Enumeration of the Damned
The enumeration of the damned belongs to another. Instead I notice the luxury residential skyscrapers beyond the shopping mall obscured in fog. Here in Gaziantep where families of four can share a motorcycle, some people are grateful to Allah for the luxury of transportation. Elhamdülillah, they say. Some people drive German cars with leather seats that warm their bottoms. Three hot meals, a place to sleep, someone to love, and a creed to believe provide adequate material for happiness. Buddha was a prince; Jesus, a carpenter; Muhammad, a caravan trader. Governance, craft, or trade will not fit a camel through the eye of a needle. Still, the gate of heaven is wide. The highway to hell, you may wonder, is as ubiquitous as it appears, a serpent strangling this world. The prophets had day jobs-- remember that. These did not confuse them as to their primary occupation. I still have feet and legs to walk, a blessing since I am afraid to ride a motorcycle. I count my blessings from breakfast to bed. I dreamt one night of robbing a bank and getting away with it.