Crazy Village
Once upon our time, there was and remains a rough group of scholars and poets and storytellers. They told and wrote down all the stories they were told not to tell . And although they were all across the land, they loved like family.
Yes, they were the singers of a story, the tellers of a tale , almost gone. They'd keep the story written on their hearts. They told their youth a story that they were not supposed to but they told the youth because it was the right thing to do.
I am one of those youths.
They tell us the stories of our love, they keep it. And now our youth have it written. On our hearts and on our minds, everywhere so it may not be lost. We tell the truth. The truth that was, is, and always will be. We are not supposed to tell this story, but we do. And our youth are the last guards of a world underground and forbidden. We are the keepers of life and of love. We tell. That is what we are commanded. So that's what we do.
Yet, war is on its way. War has swept across the land, across every community like theirs. War has not yet come to some in their crazy village. But others are not to see peace.
The elders try their best to protect the young, yet our young have seen the most war. The young go off every morn to fight a battle in knowledge. I am among them.
We are the most targeted, because we are seen as targets. So when young proclaim their faith, the mark of being hated remains. Our elders want to keep the young safe. But we are never safe in this world. Our young want no war, our law is the law of peace. We want our rights and our faith. We want a place in society. And if war breaks , our elders will go. I want to go with them , but they say I must get stronger first, must get better in a smaller battle first before the big war.
They know that I barely, just barely, am over the border. They know in the war my wicked heart could lead me back where I came. They will fight, for freedom and faith and for our futures. I will go with them when I am ready, they say, but first training. We will be ready. When war comes, it shall come. I asked one night what if they get hurt, what if they die. They said that then they die.
I ask when war will come.
We have been fighting the raids and sharpness and the brutal prejudices. We're forced to go fight almost every day. Ironic that our young are seen as secular mostly; but we fight every day. Pain and persecution be damned, any one of us would take a bullet. The elders are worried for us, I see it in their eyes. They talk about debating ideas and exposing them and presenting truth .But they don't know you can only talk so much at the end of a fight .But we have hope and faith and joy and love. So hopefully we'll be alright in the end. That's all we can know, all we can hope, for today.