Sitting on the edge of the pavement, I
see the man, that same old man walking against the walls of the houses as he
passes by them, his hands making a fist lost in his long deep pockets of his
sherwal which had once been black, this sherwal is the only piece he wears
everyday, what is his story? , Glancing at him from the other side of the
street I see him looking down at the concrete looking forward towards where
he’ll place his feet while he picks up the other from his last step. His hands
dusty as always making a design of his fingertips, as though the prints where
lined in black ink, I can’t see it from here, but I know this from the previous
times he has passed by me, smelling like freshly smoked tobacco. He looks down
lost in his thoughts, passing straight ahead of me I looked aside incase he
realizes I’m looking, glancing back I see him slip his hand out and gently
wiping his face as tears rolled down his cheeks, while he uses his sleeve to
wipe the other side, putting his heads down, he feels ashamed, ashamed of how a
man like himself could possible be this weak to cry, once again he rises his
arm but this time he wipes the sweat off his forehead from the heat of the sun
pressing against his face, then he raised his hands together pressing them side
by side in front of him slowly reaching his head to the sky and says
“Alhamdulillah” loudly for his every problem to clearly hear that no matter
what he is thankful for what he has.
From this experience i realized how most of us
don’t appreciate most of the things given to by god and by the people
around us looking back at this story i wonder why? Why is it that we are so
selfish?? Why is it that we don’t appreciate what we have? Why is it that the
only time we appreciate what we have is when we no longer have it? Why is it
that only when we are sick, we ask god to cure us, and even after we are cured
we don’t thank him? Why is it so hard for us to say that simple sentence “Thank
You God For All You Have Given Me"
