The Age of Hypocrites

The Age of Hypocrites

Of the 7 billion people on earth today, only two are perfectly capable of understanding these next few words. One of them will be blown away into the labyrinth of could haves and has beens and the other is You. If you’re still guessing what this is, it’s a suicide note. No, not mine but yours. Yours because when I’m done, you would have killed yourself on your altar of ignorance, probably by hanging yourself on your high horse of self-righteousness or drinking a chemical full of your own harmful tendencies!

Where would I start? I guess I could start by calling out the obvious hypocrisy that lies within your eyes. Veiled eyes of truth from which you administer judgement like intravenous doses of a drug, slowly, steadily draining the life force of those trying to survive, playing god in the open yet you’re the devil in disguise. You punish, abuse, shred to pieces, tear limb for limb, those who weren’t fortunate enough to avoid being caught in the day only to be the champion at night. You abuse the sex workers for selling their worth for pennies, yet you’re the whore of the neighbourhood. Fun you call it? How blinding your stupidity is! Or is it the attention you derive joy in on social media when you call out a couple maltreating their young, innocent maid from the village while your not-well-to-do step sister’s child in your house fetches you juice, does your chores while you and your begotten relax on the couch crossing your legs. Being of help to the family you call it? How convincing your wickedness is!

You’re the face of the “End Rape” campaign. You condemn rape vehemently and insist rapists should be jailed for life, yet your best friend is a serial rapist. The no-snitch code of the street has you all quiet. How appalling! The crusader is also the crucifier. You’re the preacher of godliness and contempt is great gain still you’re the poster boy of “gain the whole world, it doesn’t matter if you lose your soul.” How confused you are! Need I also call your attention to how you can’t pick a side of the coin and stick to it? You want everybody to do whatever on God’s green earth they want to do, then turn right back to tell them how exactly you want them to do what they want. Confusing, to say the least!

Well, no one’s perfect is probably what you’re thinking about right now. I thought about that too and I have an answer lined up — perfection isn’t portraying one as without flaws or blemish, it’s about marrying words with actions, an intimacy between what’s been said and what’s been done, a union that joins the judge and the culprit in sameness. You’re allowed to have your flaws but don’t use them as excuses for your cowardice. So, yes, your defence is nullified and proved void of reason, although it would make sense that your defence would be dull of reasoning as you are; epitomizing your state of run with the wind without knowing to surf or catch a sail. Every new ideology is your mantra, every new wave is your rave. Without properly questioning the ideas you’re sold, you buy in. You become theological giants but in defending what you claim to know, you’re reduced to scavenger ants; scrapping the bare bottoms for crumbs your so-called role models feed you. How utterly depressing!

Need I mention the irony of how damaged you are but still suit up with a smile, championing the cause of mental awareness, emphasizing how everyone ought to be sensitive to those around and be of a listening ear, yet you’re the king of Savage Town; snapping at everyone with savage responses. Allow me to also remind you that you’re the one raising the placards of ending abusive relationships, while in reality, if abusive relationship had the choice of wearing a face it will gladly put on yours. All these while you brief every case you get from the eyes from which the plank is so big you can only spot the speck in others. How misleading!

So, yes, I hope you die. No, it’s not a prayer, if it was it would indicate I’m praying to a God that derives pleasure in ending lives, and burning down people and causing pain. It’s also not a wish; a wish would mean that I believe at an intellectual level in the existence of genies. I hope you die, is a statement of fact, a declaration of intent, it’s also a suggestion with the biggest iota of hope and smallest grain of mustard seed. Again, I hope you die, not you exactly, but the part of you that makes you cringe at the thought of honesty, transparency and empathy; the part of you that rejoices in deceitfulness, nefariousness and clout. I hope it all burns and goes up in flames so that when the heat settles, you’ll be reborn from the ashes, purified as precious stone, the way the master intended for you to be.

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