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Sensitivity
by
Uzma Sadaf
What is sensitivity
Sensitivity of the inner light
Or the sensitivity of the inner darkness
What are the both?
I don’t know because
There is no sensitivity within me
It is the matter of only yesterday
Not much time has passed
A part of my self was slaughtered before me
That man was my own
A human being like me
An individual of my society
His corpse was lying before me
In a pool of blood
His eyes coming out
His hands opening to ask for something
Then those hands were closed at once
His steps were still in journey
His one foot was raised up
And then he passed
I killed him myself
There was a red line on my palm
Not a single drop of tear came out of my eyes
I was turned into ice
Then I thought
Perhaps I had been deprived of sensitivity
And the man inside me had died.
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