It’s a long day, sitting on the chair and filling the same sheets. I know it’s not good and awful that your job is menial and boring. There’s always a self-loathing and pity perspective towards people like us. But, we are the 90 % working class on which society enthrall. Large MNCs, Big corporations and industries depend on these stale faces. I do two things while working. First, I work or fill the charts. Second, I cut my whole self and sprinkle it on the feelings I don’t know. That’s a normal day in my life. Most of us wait for the clock to tick at 5. Damn, that sound tik-tok, tik-tok, it makes me sick. It’s like a sound continuously reminding “ your life is ending, it’s fading…” and you can’t do anything. It’s the invisible time that reminds the value of life. The immortal time gives the meaning to mortality.
And the same way one more day ended, my colleagues are happy. Now, they can go but the same thought again struck “where?”. While diving these deep sea of thoughts somehow I came across the street. The sky is red with a slight curve of yellow, wailing on the horizon. The dust, scorching humidity and the hot breeze coming from the river. Every day, I walk through the same street, cross through the same sideline and over the same pavement. I see life, the life other people are living, the same smile which they stick every morning before going to the office, college or school. I listened to someone saying a happy face is a living face. I don’t know whether it’s true or not but keeping the same smile would be similar to my job. It’s you, what you can feel matters. It’s ironical that you can see everyone through your eyes but can’t see yourself. You can remember a thousand faces but not your own.
Oh god! These thoughts are going to kill me one day. Walking through the lanes, I scratched near my neck, a drop of blood, red like the sky, and deep like …., not again! I remembered there's a scar on my neck, got in my teens while playing with my friend. We were playing a sword fight, obviously with a stick. He pocked that stick near my neck and it goes smoothly scratching my skin. It was scary, the first time in my life I felt something called end. It was something I never experienced. Blood, too much blood, colored my blue shirt to red, the same as I saw in movies. Sigh! All the things were fake, you see I’m still alive living with the same scar. These things had happened many times, but that feeling made me remember that day. The feeling of oncoming death, vanishing or you can say that was mind dwindling fear of death and slight fear of my parents. Scars are like the imprisonment of feeling in a lump of mass on your body that inculcates you. I think scar sometimes defines you, like a soldier or a child, both having a similar meaning. My experience of life was also enriched my scars, the day I felt the death, yes it was childish and everyone had faced it. Somehow it molded my life, maybe that’s the reason how I feel about life and death. For now, it has no meaning, the edge I born and I’ll die on the same edge, maybe not on a guillotine, or in a cage. For you I’m free, everyone can see me, everyone can feel me. But deep inside, I don’t know who caged me? I can't feel myself. The only thing I have left is to talk to my caged self and wait for the ticking to stop.