DESCRIPTION:
As I enter my cell, for the first time in my life this place of confinement is facing East.

Usually when I arrive, unnecessary search and seizure is performed, then sent to a concrete trap, awaiting to be fed, facing the opposite direction. It seems the guards don't get to the new comers until they feel it necessary. I stare at my arm, which holds a puncture wound that is administered against my consent consistently time after time, each occasion.

I wonder, if out of one of thousand times they ever tried to experiment with new solutions? It's just something to consider, sometimes my imagination manifests to be true. The significance of this particular visit is ironic because I can see the morning sun rise from a glimpse behind a barred window, not something to take for granted because I know with certainty this is the direction I shall face to submit to my lord. The strange thing is, there is usually a stool built to the floor obstructing the area where my supplication is giving, which means I will have to bow near a toilet, which is unclean, or not pray at all. The teaching is to "trust in allah, then tie your camel." I can't forget the rasta teaching as well -- when one door closes another one opens.