ARTICLE- there is a fever of rage, a fever suppressor holds

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disguise and run: a grandfather of two children shouts. ‘Don't look back’, he shouts again. A boy age eleven, the other was a girl age eight. They looked back but couldn't find their grandfather standing still. He was on land, land they said was theirs and now it’s the home of a dead man who lost his son, daughter and wife on the same ground.

Seventy thousand and more passed away in a fire provoked by them.

But, who are they?

A teenage girl was found dead and molested on the same land her father used to grow food and feed her, on the same ground she said provided them supper.

Women are asking for their safety on the same land they once organised tea parties, but now it is spillage they are on, spillage of their safety and respect.

Man pleads for his family's safety, pleads for the land on which he once built a home.

A hospital flooded with hundred-plus patients and medical staff was bombed killing many.

What it is with a man with mere knowledge holding greed and grief at the same time, asking for revenge instead of salvation, and doing a task that is nowhere to be registered?

And what it is with a man who forgets what solitude and society mean, and all the guidance the wise men taught is zero when a man starts to think of rage which will extinct generations and generations of families for whom?

“A land that can never be someone’s, as it will dissolve the dead and provide the living but will never be certain for one belonging.”