Steve’s Apples By Sami Khalil
(Steve Job’s prophetic commencement speech as if foretelling his death)
He wrote boldly with forceful strokes. He could
not ignore the cacoethes swarming restless and deep. Something haunted him,
taunted his tired eyes. His thoughts scudded across a range of possibilities.
Nothing seemed impenetrable when you possess the facts for doctors gave him
three to six months to live. It was a rare form of deadly pancreatic cancer.
The man, who was on top of the technology world, who had instant name
recognition, will be dying soon?!
As strong light came in through the window, his eyes
squinted. The unfamiliar horizon became foolhardy with firm contours. He
drifted between the veils of the seen and the unseen. No one is promised tomorrow,
but between the now and then, there lies change and chance.
He wrote and wrote until the daylight dipped
below the silent vigils of the moon. When all were said and done, he felt
utterly depressed, woefully lonesome, withered to the bones.
But, with hope and ponderous certainty, he
finished the speech. He turned on some soft music to drown the shriek of death
as the mewling cries of hawks echoed loudly in the distance. One must conquer
fear for it rides on the back of wild horses, aimlessly lawless, free to
roam. One must let the spirit run away, for it will come back to its roots. One
must share his illustrious success in life with others in many ubiquitous ways.
It was a prophetic speech that he wrote and
delivered at Stanford. It was so wise, inspiring and beneficial.
After six months he succumbed to death. There was
dead silence for a while. The valley and the world mourned that cluttered
moment under heavy frays, but celebrated his life’s achievements. Meanwhile, silent
vigils of the moon continued.
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