We all have senses to detect the road as well as the danger ahead but they come in disguise to rue us as if tragedy is the trophy for our ability to feast on the lives of weakling.
The more ruthless you are the apparent it is for you to get away with by inflicting the best harm you can and being oblivious to tears and whatsoever.
It is the victim who is the recipient of the trophy, I know it is the other way around but this paradox does prevail even though we hardly go down to make it the topic of day today conversation, at least, without drawing any remedy.
Expectedly she is conferred what she has long been unknowingly looking for as the life is reshaped in its most undesirable fashion she seems to be left with no choice to take it and move on with a new start as though nothing happened and before and past has got nothing to do with the present that sprouted from its fertile past.
While your life is perching on the edge of a soft couch to re-taste the bitter incidents undesirably at the same time doodling in your meshed head for an exit strategy the soft cushion turns into the hardest metal with the sharpest spikes piercing through your bum trying to get to your shattered heart as if looking for a larger remnant of it to stab and to carve its way inside while granting you a bitterly painful movement to ensure that love is erased and the calling for a new conviction is reinforced.
The new conviction; assume that nothing happened and start living a life that you never thought of.
The eternal bleeding that has stained memory and will becomes your new outfit for the days ahead somehow you have to learn the art to refashion yourself to camouflage your past just to get along with the people around you who will never comprehend your story and nor will you rekindle to narrate them someday only for slipping out from your mouth by accident so that a bad narrator like me can rephrase the words and sentences to suit the taste of people.
You can call me names but the justification I want to sought won't be revealed as I bear the sorry and bitter tales and the dim that glows on my face which has symbolized my life has resulted from the literal culmination of those.
Certainly I just don't skim over the traces but have walked long with you.
Like you I also feel every pain and trauma although how it is felt can never be the same.
Concluded
* N. Bobo Meitei contributes to e-pao.net regularly.
The writer can be contacted at [email protected] .
This article was webcasted on January 27th 2007.
|