A silhouette digging a porous land, he digs deep, his spade rises high and pierces the land striking with a tenacity. It gets a large heap of clay and still makes a very very small pit, very small pit. The heap contains torn pictures, rusted pins, rotten fruits, entangled chains, bits of paper folded till possible, invoices, broken mirrors, bottles of tried medicine, rotting straws. History or soil? I am only a thought in between, no physical existence support me, I am an observer with an eye I cannot see.
Human heart or piece of land? The striking mighty spade or the heart ripped apart, done upside down in solitude to look for things that is important very important but has gone missing. The brute force of spade raised high attempting to dig deep and as it comes close to ground turns into unwillingness and apprehension for the love of land that shall be wounded. The digging does not stop however only becomes restless, and desperate and fast. I only fail to understand if the spade is being hurt, the land being ripped apart or the person digging is inflicting pain on himself.
The folded papers as if a representation of a sin or a love away from reasons, secrecy not to be revealed. The bits of fruits look like sweet relations chewed to bones till it had sweetness. The rusted nails look like layers, of compilations of misunderstandings, of apprehension to claim back a friend lost to meaningless egos, or are they cherised belongings foresaken for people who mean less, who mean so little but continue to out power, continue to make decisions on behalfs. Are those entangled chains or complicated relations a father confused how to react when a friend kisses his moaning son. He liked it because somebody loved his son or he disliked it because his society wants him to dislike. Beads allowed to let go or the beads that couldn't be kept together. Rotting straws or Nests brought down after the capable dwellers left behind the elderlies promising them to return but never to return. The land was porous by nature or by the constant tear poured on it. Shattered glass or shattered hopes.
Bang!!! an attempted suicide a 22 years old jumps down from the fourth floor. Wakes up in dark to realize the pain he wanted to get rid of was laughing at him, on the tin. Tries to pierce his bony body with rods to no avail, clings on to live wire and yet caught by people. Unhurt he returns to his bed to be mocked the next day, a story for everyone to talk about for few days. My mother can't pay the bills, I prefer to die his dry yet red eyes roared. I thought her mother must be somebody who looked pitiful, helpless, she was scary (my perception, I avoided exchanging glance when I did I felt cold). She had made no complaints just few inquiries and thats it. I am sure she must have been torn apart but didn't want to trouble her son more else why would somebody attempt a suicide because he loved his mother.
Back to dreams again, a tiger killed. When being chased it was horse when it came to fight it was a tiger. What is so precious about living the boy who had attempted suicide yesterday would have asked. I had not allowed him to enter my dreams. My entry at dreams read in large "TRESPASSERS PERSECUTED", the term borrowed from a story of my 3rd standard textbook. The final bullet makes the tiger motionless after the first two shots in air.
