Najee Writing

If you are reading this, it means that I have failed again.

I live on only in the dreams of the dead and the hopeless. Over time my story is not just lost, but purposely destroyed. Had I succeeded, my triumph would have ushered in an era of peace. This record is my apology.

You have my sincerest gratitude if you accept it and keep my story alive for all mankind.

In life, I am just a human like you. But in spirit, I bear a crushing burden. In the womb, The Angel of Life breathes a soul into me, along with the pleas and dying breaths of the oppressed.

My flesh forms around enough pain to make kings mourn for a hundred years. When the world’s light first touches me, I do not to cry like other newborns.

I laugh.

Because I know this life is an illusion, and that we cannot truly die. And because I truly believe that every life that I live will be my opportunity to establish The Law upon the earth.

My rhythmic footsteps echo across the Earth, like the beating of a drum. As I march, the world resists me. You can find me where the wretched of the Earth have found reason to laugh again.

But don’t think that I am purely a jovial man. I have been given many names. But my favorite is Yahya the Conqueror. When I come close to succeeding, my legacy is written in blood and preserved under tombstones. Some call me reckless for challenging the oppressors and inviting the masses to pain.

I tell them that freedom isn’t free, and I press on.

As a mortal man, my death is always guaranteed in The Record. The Angel of Death comes to hold my soul in his hand and scatter my essence across another realm. I dream that I am everywhere, and part of everyone.

Here I wait until the Angel of Life has collected enough suffering and sorrow to call for me once again. Until that time comes, be righteous. Call others to truth, to patience.

Find laughter and a drumbeat that carries on the wind of grief and anguish.