Jabar's gallery

It could be the time Says the man who saw his death Cross legged at his apartment's balcony His ears hear only silence Its the darkest time of the night Perhaps this is what death sounds like  He's finally embraced insomnia Alive through every single night His life seems to emulate the Wolverine's The politics of reality finally consuming him He has but one option left, fight Fight for this one thing he chose Fight for this one life like puss in boots For man hasn't the luxury of all 9 lives Some people have chosen us over others We can never let go of the things we've built His outer man seems desperate But at least his inner man is rigid The future looks brighter Yet his end feels nearer This could be the time Says the man who saw his death 

"You may not believe, but I am a very different man now" "I am a different man too. What do you want. Get out of here." Moghin shouted back bitterly to the beggar that had interrupted our coversation. The miserable man was respectful enough to leave us alone. I kept on wondering, "Have I been here? Will my life ever get to this?" I understood the scene enough not to entertain a second thought in their shoes. I clearly observed that both these men meant what they said but none of them was one bit empathetic to the other. The beggar's speech only craved for sympathy while the man next to me was the pure opposite. Cold and bitter. Life had played her cards on them both and won. Or as Ugandans say, "life humbled them." The night was cold and it wouldn't stop drizzling. We had stopped by " Chicken Tonight" to buy some time off the disturbing weather.  "I was the sole beverage supplier of that city for close to 10 y