Another day

The scorching heat from the sand burns my feet as if the whole desert wants to devour my flesh without leaving any remains. My eyes see so many shelters around me; I would love to chop off my leg just to breathe under the shade of a tree. But I can't; they won't let me until I am done with my work. How would they know the pain that we go through carrying an object bigger than our lives on our backs? It feels wrong to criticize their work against ours, but all they have to do is to sit on a comfy chair made for the pharaohs. Never complained in my life; I remember the first time I raised my voice, a slap on the wrist was the punishment I received. It doesn't feel big, but when someone loves you and tells you not to do something, you believe in them. From that day on, I never complained about anything. Even though they made me walk on wet sand, I thought the sand was as strong as a floor made of stones. Father taught me never to complain about gifts from fate; hopefully, someday, it might bring us the sweet reward right after the sandstorm of misery. Such naiveness, how or should I say why did he carry within him? Now I am closing his age, but I don't carry the same enthusiasm for hope as he did when he was walking on the same sand. Why? Maybe it's me. It might be my desire that made me climb the tower of expectations. He never had it in him, but the man had all the happiness in his life when he saw my flesh with my mother. The brutal pain he endured from the day's work all slowly vanished in the air like sweat after a cold wind breeze. Never understood the value of love, always went blind with the lust of an adolescent. As I carry the weight on my back, everything is becoming clearer, as now I have all the time in the world to ponder things from the past. As it gives me time not to think about the pain I am feeling every second, only at every corner of my body. My mind is flowing on the river of the past, and I don't want to get out of it. I have no idea what the future holds. The unpredictable mistress waits in the distance; who knows if it will bring good or a constant cycle of misery in my life. As long as I glance at the past, it brings me a great serenity of the things I once had in my life. Things I should have admired when I had the chance, but it is life, after all. Regret will born from the swamp we created in our past. Now I am slowly seeing the swamp grow to a massive scale, taking over everything I have in the present. The only place where I can see a glimpse of clear water is when I take in memories of the past. My physical self feels the pain, but the inner soul heals it. It is hard to explain how our mind works. Maybe we shouldn't ask questions, just look up; hopefully, the stars will guide us to our destinations.