My Friend, know that I never have judged you for I don’t have written laws of men nor do I compose an audience to the floors and pews of court, for aren’t we the judge to no one but our own selves. And aren’t we all face to face with our trials in every day.
I need not witnesses or people to laud my verity, for isn’t it that our own hearts are enough a compass to direct—to push forth or to recant—our deeds, in this way my silence my refuge and my actions are vindication to my beliefs.
But here let me say the things that I believe in, and here, perhaps you’ll be able to understand the conversation that you sanguinely desist.
The truth cannot set forth to the shores of men who are afraid to listen, to hear his brothers’ stories and life. I hear, you readily reject and undermine the narrative of another based on the semantics one use or the names one resound, while on the other you accept a person, embraced him with ornamental praises and crest of royalty that imbibes a certain caste when that person utters a single syllable of one’s own provincial tongue. By this way, my brother, you throw away the nature of Truth and you rest your proud head upon the comforts of your own blind ignorance.
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