In my culture when a person is dead they are burned, that how it is, that how it should be. Yet in forgetting forgiveness, in holding on to their hate, their anger so many come to lie in their funeral pyres long before their time. Flames recognizing neither the dead nor alive consume a man all the same. It is up to a man how he wants to meets that fire, at peace and at rest or in a state of turmoil and alive.
There is no joy in revenge, it is but the path of emptiness, the path of utter poverty. In marching down it I have brought my enemy suffering as they did me, yet it is I who feels who wronged, who is being robbed of peace. I traded away the bitter pill of forgiveness for the sweet poison of vengeance.