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The Grass Is Not Always Greener

By – Suleiman Murkthar


He stands at the shores of the ocean, a boy of nineteen or twenty, or more. He stared incredulously at the far ends of the water, he wondered and hoped and wishes. He wishes for a lot of things, a lot of things the young boys his age should wish for. Each time the gushing waves slaps the bare of the rocks he would make another wish, he will keep at this for a while, and hours and hours will pass.

“What could be different tomorrow, what could be different today?” He will wonder still amiss all of his wonders.

Then he will hear the silent voice of sulking reverence, it will laugh aloud and whisper slow, mock his voice in his cries and pain and feed his foes. He takes a deep breath and breathes his courage, the world will gasp as he dives through the water. He will see underneath the beauty of the world, a phase of life unseen to the naked eyes, unknown to science, unknown to nature itself, and with each stroke he pushes through the slapping waves, he drives in with revering anger, and every time he moves, he will get faster and bolder and perhaps even stronger. Now his foe in his thoughts becomes scared, it shines in this new found bravery and astute courage. The foolishness that came with it. The vagabondage the poor innocent promising imbecile had started, or was he? An imbecile.

Here he was, stupid a boy as he may seem, he was making the unusual normal. swimming against the tides of un-sailable seas, he will keep flapping, and stroking his hands and every time, he sinks in the far side of shore, away from sand and all thereof about land. He will only go a few kilometers before his hands will fail him; at first his toes became numb and then his feet, then his fingers followed and a fist became alien to him, he stopped and looked up and the sun was all there was. With everything blue as far as the eyes could see, there was truly nothing brave about the foolhardiness he started, there was no glory anymore, there was just… Sea. And in the next days he will come to like the color blue, the semblance of swooshing peace that came with it, the nothingness in its swirling ignorance of his existence.

The gods will be kind and he will make it to an island, he will see the coconuts and mangoes on the trees as beautiful, he will see it all and they will be ever diamonds in his sights, he kissed the feet of the island and walked in.

And he will see the sun rise and the sun set, and days will become months. The boy didn’t know what time was any more, he will realize the lack of betterment that wasn’t there. He screamed on most nights, when it rained banters, so heavy you feel the showers rocky, he will scream and no one will hear.

And someday, after Mother Nature had done her course, when the poor fool have learnt the gift of appreciation, a white ship will set sail pass the island of coconuts and mango, and he will head back. He only knew what he had done, what had happened and the friendship he had made with the blue. He had become a Solomon the past days, weeks and months, he has come to know that there is no Glory in foolish bravery.

Learn to appreciate the little things you have, don’t deep into the sea of barrenness in an attempt to seek for greener pastures on land. The grass is only greener on the other side because you haven’t seen the other side yet, the grass may be greener, the owner may be painting it.

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