In the short spell before sleep prevailed I wondered whether it was just wishful thinking on my part. I hate barriers with a vengeance. Even picturesque picket fences in the countryside leave me with a foreboding feeling of oppression. Children need not grow up in the confines of a repressive home nor rot in the stifling outdoors. Inspirited men are not meant to go through life moving from a jail cell to a larger prison. Ardent women must not be incarcerated behind a thick veil of deistic benightedness. Parks should not be closed in and locked.
Sculpture by Ali Suleiman
The fence was gone, I was happy to see the next morning, and a sculpted hand holding a pencil was mounted on the eastern side of the park. The pencil poised to scribble on a blank slate fascinated me. I must admit that I do not find the art work exceptionally comely yet the sculpture had become a focal point of interest on my daily walk. I knew that something eventually will be engraved on the slate of rock and I hoped against hope that it won't be an adulterated slogan.
Two days ago I read at last, "Tartous: the Sea, the Plain and the Mountain, Free From Illiteracy 2010." I walked on, my swift gait livelier and my steadfast hope stronger. Another brick falling off the wall, I thought, ignorance, censorship and religious tyranny to follow in this part of the world; discrimination, racism, and domination to come to an end everywhere else.