A Letter of Hope

Today I was busy; sorry for not giving you time. I know you wait for me; search for my words to be uttered and thoughts to be expressed and the shelter of hope keeps you awake that I will come and talk to you.

It's not my presence which is with you. It's the sensation that is with you.

"Manzir! Hey you idiot! Your letter is there." 

Holding the letter with shivering hands, hope glittered in his eyes.

He was dancing with ecstasy. His inmate were glaring at him, jealous of his treasure. But Manzir wasn't bothered. He was happy with the little ray of hope. Kissing the letter as it was sacred and worthy to be bowed down to. With dribbling saliva and shaking body he was the king in his own.

Another letter with another day revealing the mysteries on him, we all are human beings, we all make some sort of icon and then worship it with all love and respect. Some people have these idols in the form of other human beings, some make money as their sculpture, some make them from their own hands but in some or other manner we all are obeying them, decorating with our emotions, feelings and sacred love unaware of the fact that all the icons are to be broken sooner or later, sometimes gradually and sometimes at once because the idols are meant to be torn. Allah shows man the reality of his idols and his worship because at the end it's only the door of hope from Allah that stays open.

Those who try to rejoin their artificial sculpture, color their hands from the blood of emotions. The heap of their expectations injure them like the pieces of broken glass.

The idol must not be a sweetheart otherwise it becomes sweet poison.

It's not the hope my son that hurts, it's the extravagant expectations from your idols. It's not the end of talk but I know your thoughts are saturated with the philosophy of hope. I want you to think of this and then move ahead.

Holding his solo son of happiness in the prison Manzir was  in deep thought. Trying to slip his hands in his hair he got stuck in the thoughts like hair which were so much entangled with one another like these have decided to keep on embracing one another till death.

He was not a bad man but he was not the man of hope, trying to get fulfill all expectations of his own which start and end at life luxuries he used illegal ways to get himself out of the despair of poverty which drawn him behind the long and wide slammers of jail.

The only left support with him was the letter of his mother that he kept on receiving continually unknowingly hoping for the letters that these will be there for him soon made him the hope idol but sometimes the man doesn't know how he get onto either right or wrong pathway same was the case with him.

"Dear son!

I know I am writing you after one month but it doesn't mean I forgot you. I was trying to teach you practically what I wrote in the last letter.

Staying away from hope of the best is not the lesson but don't make the idols. During the whole month you practiced how to hope for the day at which there will be a letter for you, although sometimes despair may envelope you but then you again wait and you developed the positive reflex of hope without exploitation of hope idol. If you fail at some point in life, or your icons breakdown, don't let yourself to be afraid and sad.

You can hope for something but you can't hold the results in your hands.

So my son it's my hope that you will come out of the prison and will be the son of hope which is pious and sacred. It is to wear with dignity.

Tears rolled down from his face, but now the light was new. His vision was broad and the pride of hope was waiting for him all around inside the prison with full freedom.

- Amna Ghafoor (Class of 2020)