For a long time, I haven't been myself, as though non-existent. Thought, work, moments, and time, everything deserted me. Looked to the shadow, it already had it's back to me, but reluctantly being dragged. Everything was looking so dull, lifeless. The oxygen that I breathe, was toxic, poisoning every drop of blood flowing. It's something that I have never been at, anytime. Even in adversity, nothing ever was pointless and senseless to an extent that the existence be questioned. Every cry of help, was vanishing, like gold when put in mercury, amalgamated. It was as though I was standing in the middle of desert, on naked foot, and sun melting me in it's heat, ceasing to exist. Something was pushing me to edge. I was feeling as though cornered. Despite good and corrected vision, I couldn't see anything. Everything was invisible like in dark, or maybe, I have lost my sight. Not knowing, what better I could do, as I sat trying to gather myself, I find my cheeks gone wet. As my eyes float in the salty water, unaware, I dozed off. Reprieved.
I "had" a dream.
"It's not chaos, but more than it at the traffic signal. Cars in the front honking to nothing, and ones behind as well were honking. People seemed to be in a hurry, nonetheless were acting senseless, not realizing that honking won't change red into green, for another "blurred" seconds that it was due. As I sit in pleasure, spoiled by my luxuries, worrying about nothing, I see a kid. He was without an arm. He was cleaning glasses of cars. The people in the car, were cursing him, for cleaning their windscreen of-course, rather I say touching it. He requested that some change be spared to him, not that he was begging, but for work he did. He's turned away, while the driver is munching burger. He asks again, putting his soiled palms over starving stomach, gesturing that he's hungry. Nope, people weren't yielding, to an "arm-less" kid, doing something. They were too busy, honking, and cursing honkers. He runs away, not to dirty gunny bag lying on lane, his address, among the high buildings and buildings with mercs, but to another car. He does same, people keep doing same. As time is ticking, he's staying at a car, for even lesser time than at previous one. And it's green, it's despair and dejection. He want's to cry, but then who will hear his cries, when there's none for his words. But, he doesn't let a tear or cry, that he is matured by the hard truth and cruelty of reality. Among noise of cars, wind-screens of some gleaming like new, thanks to him, he walks away from his work, from those gleams, without a complaint, not minding due credits. He's going to his small home, the gunny bag. He isn't cursing anything, his fate, or the people. The wind-screens, the gleaming ones, shining flashes of reflection on him, the least they could, thanking him and blessing him.
Next day, he's doing same. Hope battling fiercely for itself against the giant hopelessness.
Every day at that signal, I see him do the same. Never giving up on people, working for and living on rare breed of kind people. And I, yet with everything, am crying, about everything, giving up hope on, almost everyone and life . . . . . . "
A good dream, and I wake up.
The kid, never bothered about the lost arm, but thought about what he could with his one good arm. He didn't bother about people who couldn't spare a change, but was bothered about what he had to do to get it. He knew he cannot impact on people, but something he could do, that hopefully will impress upon them, is work, with all the resources he has. He did better than resigning himself to cause of lost arm, or fate that seemingly deserted him to misery. Deep down he knew, effort is all he could do, and he didn't give up on it, and was sure that it too wouldn't give up on him. He determinedly decided to keep up hope and faith, if he can on someone, and if no one, then on himself.
Hope is all I have to have, and work is all I have to do. So said to me, my conscience. A beautiful flower can't just wither away like that, and so cannot my beautiful life.
