Some moments of life as a picture
Why am I in this body? Why my body is different? Why am I not him and he is not me? Why is she covered, and her body is soaked in blood? Why has her body become a disaster for her life?
Questions are changing one by one or two by two, they become images, the image of those who were women and life, wishes and dreams, the dream of freedom. In the cities, villages, on the streets, and allies, they become outcry, who was soaked with blood, and they show up in the new body in the image. The image of thousands and millions who shout, raise their voices and cross the boundaries of villages, cities, and countries of the world. The image of women of my country!
I listen to their life story at the night, and in the daytime I’m their co-traveler, embracing their blood-soaked bodies and taking them from a mountain to the next one, perhaps I can find a calm place full of freedom so I can bury them in a piece of soil. They are resurrected and leave the body buried in the soil and raise their voice and visit everywhere, they knock on the closed doors of every house and raise their voice for freedom, so every human on the earth can be aware of what they’ve been through. They are now outside your home. Open the door, hug them and receive their message.
If you wear a hat, a veil, and a head scarf, remove it so Jina and other Jinas can see your free faces, they are the messengers of freedom!
