The exile of the Qafir - Zahran Al Qasimi

He lost his sense of the things around him, suddenly turned into a raging tornado of anger, his hammer raised and struck the rock, and this repeated over and over until the spot trembled, and dust began to increase from the falling stones. The blows continued, and his entire body changed into hands whose only concern was to slap that mountainous area confronting him as if he was hitting everything he had lived through since he was a boy, hammering his prison, his absence, his despair of leaving this darkness, his overwhelming longing for his wife, the deafening roar that deafened his ears and prevented him from hearing anything else, the isolation that expanded and extended, and the idea he did not want in front of him… He did not know that the body of the rock was collapsing in front of him, he was absent in his anger, united with his hammer in destroying all the walls that faced him, he being the solitary, the absent, the prisoner, the wounded, the hungry, the thirsty.