My father whom I hate

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Their voices emerge from behind prison bars; each cell has its own distinct character, its own mark of crime, but in reality, they were all innocent.

Their imprisonment was (a crime they did not commit), but they absorbed it, so it restricted them and prevented them from realizing their potential.

They did not realize that the cell doors were open, and that they could escape. They were so accustomed to these cells that they never imagined that it was possible to escape, and that each of them had a spacious life outside his cell.

How could it be, when the prison was made by their loved ones?! Fathers and mothers, uncles and aunts, teachers, sheikhs, priests, and community figures, who made the prisons in the name of love or self-interest.

Until one day someone decided to be daring and push the door open a little so that a glimmer of the light of recovery would enter. Then he became more daring and went out to the corridor there where the cells of pain were. Then he took more risks and shouted to the prisoners that there was light outside the cages, and that life outside the prison was possible and guaranteed and not forbidden to them as they thought!

Then the doors slowly opened, and the prisoners came out, to meet there on the road to the road, on the escape journey out of the prison... the soft prison!

In that corridor, they engraved their stories of recovery and wrote their healing stories on the walls, and announced how to escape to anyone whose fate had ever thrown him into such a prison.
This book was one of those inscriptions.