Life, war and Death.
As a teen in school, during one of my english class, I came across a beautiful paragraph about a young girl whose life was colourful with dreams. Oblivious to the history behind that paragraph, I rushed to our school library to get hold of that book. It had a very different story to tell.
A young girl like me back then who dreamed about becoming a journalist, who had joy in her eyes when she saw that red dairy as her b'day present, that moment she wouldn't have known she was going to write her last days of life in that book spending time with her family in the attic hiding from people. She wouldn't have known she would be a victim of the holocaust.
Reading it, I could only think she had a life full of dreams, and her death wasn't her mistake other than being born at that time, in that place, and in that religion or race. She was one of those voices that screamed on behalf of all those innocent lives taken for someone's ego and hate.
Now, even after building so many libraries of precious books and witnessing so many historical events. Knowing the truth, we still see it happening, don't we? And it's always the innocent life for greed and power.
While I'm writing this, I know somewhere a boy or a girl who had colourful dreams is fearing for their life in the dark. Lovers who dreamed of a happy life together are wondering whether they'll even be alive to live it, children who are yet to start their life have already lost it, elders who had dreamt of seeing their kids and grandkids live a happy life are weeping in tears after losing them. If Anne Frank was alive now, I'm sure she would fight for all those innocent lives.