Out or not?
Out or not?
Is it appopriate? Is it accepted? Is it?
Generally it's a taboo. A taboo in which it metaphorically means slapping your parents in public. Smearing shit on somebody's face. Giving acupuncture try outs to an innocent kitten. And yet, we love to indulge ourselves in it, pleasuring every guilty moment of exploiting the essence hidden underneath secrets. Shhhh... No one knows... Shhhh... Yet everybody's doing it. Subconsiously. Consiously. In their sleeps. Some lullabied themselves with the pleasure knowing somebody's secret. Some endured the pain of having secrets out. Most experienced both. Secrets. It is a desease as it is a medication. It is taboo as it is public.
It is like sin as it is one. Secrets. I used to wonder why Rasulullah prohibited his umat to whisper, as he firmly puts it as a method of conversation for satans. I wondered then; I know now that secrets are sins. Secrets are pain. Secrets are pleasure. Secrets. Shhhhh.....
As we dwelled in our own secrets, we foresee our troubled time when our secrets are out. Secrets devours our soul. Secrets are never kept in coffins. They are, in fact kept insecurely in people's mind. A story, tales of many judgements that will dissapear once we are no more. No more. No one cares then. So why should they care now. Secrets, like chocolates, are temporary pleasure. Pleasure of a minute, of a few seconds. A pleasure that had proved lethal in the long run. A knife. A dagger. What pain when you stab yourself when you're still alive! Will it be painful once you're dead?
So why mold a knife? Why hid the dagger in its sheath?Why? Secrets... we'll keep this article between us, won't we? Shhhh.....