I had a dream.

I had a dream,
the pure, sacred dream
that,
there are very beautiful colours all around
the children of diffrent nations are smiling & gaglings
without any shadow of fear
there is no any sort of discrimination:
between balck and white,
among Asians, Westerns, Africans and rest of the other Nations,
among Christians, Muslims ,Jesus, Hindu and other Religions,
between rich and poor,
between man and woman,
between employer and employee
Every one pay high respect to each other
Every one spend his/ her life as he/ she wishes
without any sort of preassure; direct or indirect
There is no need of spending earned money at weapons,
because there is no any sort of threat to each other
simply they have learned the great lesson,
to live together with love, respect and honour
so the money is spending for the best welfare of whole Humanity,
such spending is the sacred task for all peoples,
under the sun
every one enjoying the freedom, the best fascilities of the world,
under the sun
The peoples of the globe have develop this modest culture,
inspite of many differences among them
They develop such culture,
with the basic principles of life;
the patience,
the forgiveness,
understanding to each other,
paying respect to each other,
share the pain and joys of each other
But,
this was the dream
Perhaps the Master, the creator of this universe
will bring such time,
under the sun,
at this planet

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When the Readers Move Ahead of the Columnist

There is something quietly seismic happening—not in the corridors of power, not in carefully worded opinion columns, but in the comment sections beneath them. While attempts to diagnose where Israel “lost its way,” the readers seem to be asking a far more unsettling question: What if it didn’t lose its way at all? What if this is the way? For decades, the comforting narrative was simple: the problem was leadership. Replace , and the moral arc would gently correct itself. Peace would again become plausible. Restraint would return. The “real Israel” would re-emerge. But the readers are no longer convinced. They are pointing to something deeper—something less convenient. Not a deviation. A pattern. Not an exception. A structure. Because when policies persist across decades, across governments, across crises—at what point do we stop calling them mistakes and start calling them design? The Quiet Collapse of a Narrative One reader puts it bluntly: Palestinians have alr...

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