‘Today you look so beautiful’, he thought and
by R.K. Brojen Singh
Narrated me a story one day, but fail to say something,
Showing his empty hands. I have forgotten the old stories
Which we decided to forget, so I never knock the doors
Doors of full of incidents
Incidents of how we struggled and survived,
And became complex in identity,
But he just smiled and told me
That he is not tired.
We knew the doors in the city are unwelcome
so we continued our journey without rest.
The roads and lanes in the city are poisonous snakes
The buildings are isolated each other with thick walls
The floors in each building are unique
Stacked up individually and are unrelated,
Open doors are like nets; inside, the lights are attractive
Inside the closed doors, stories full of incidents will start,
Incidents of hatred, exploitation, suppression, killings
Some are vanished unnoticed and some break up the city.
Days and nights have the same meaning
Tears and smiles have the same symbol of weakness
Death and alive have the same stories, so
We rested on grass loan, had few drinks and food
Slept sometime with eyes opened, thought
Have to go a long journey.
Long time ago
One morning, opening seven golden gates
He came in the house of fore father,
Everyone was doing their own work, he kept silent
Roamed around in and out of the house.
‘Everything is disordered’, he cried loudly
Everybody seemed to be heard, but nobody replied,
With a sigh, he sat on the mat for sometime, grasped the situation,
Then he went and stood in front of the full size mirror
Hanging on the mud wall, stared on his image in the mirror.
Then he combed his hair, trying to make himself him,
That reflects how he originated, beginning to end.
On the mirror, he saw the temporary faces of thousand eyes
Showing charm to attract him, decorating his face
Making him beautiful, injecting blood of not his own,
Then his own face was eaten by the thousand eyes.
Frightened and then angered by his skeleton face
Of his own, and could not able to recognize himself
Looked around in search of his own face
That has been lost long time back.
He has been searching himself
Following the complicated footprints
That makes him more confused and nightmare.
Feeling hatred of himself,
He cried and broke the mirror,
Then the faces in the pieces of the broken mirror
eaten him alive again.
Then he said to me in plain, ‘I am killed’.
‘I killed myself’; ‘I am not that I you think of, my friend’,
Then everybody in the house asked
‘What is difference between you and us? ’
He kept quite and stood confused
About he and his lost ‘I’.
We climbed up Koubru mountain
When we ask about ourselves and confused,
After having a nice lunch, we rested on top mountain,
We talked to trees, caves, grass seats and cloud forms
Then played within riddles and answers, Night woke us up
With the breezing hands of the murmuring souls,
They spoke without any words
That our blood has been poisoned
In the wine we drank in parties, trouble times
And when we departed away each other in past times,
With the (nisa) of the wine
We have been living in a dream of virtual reality.
‘When you are in trouble,
Look you are alone’, they continued telling
We kept sitting on the stones, centuries old
hearing them. Through them we saw
a garland of thousand knots
on the neck of the century.
Therefore we started our journey
Journey to search us and our ‘I’s
Those have been lost long time back.