Absence

ABSENCE

["Absence" is a poetic piece i originally composed in Nepali: one of a few, rare, poetic compositions i had originally done in Nepali and later translated  into English. A lot of people speaking in a video inspired me to read out this poem on YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MMle6pFrNzk

My voice does not sound beautiful, or attractive, or pleasant — a hoarsely croaking throat as that of a frog suffering from cold!  And that too required my waiting until late night hours for a couple of days to record the audio on my mobile phone: man-made noises fill the air around me most of the time and that disturbs my peace, my quietude, my concentration!!
 

The text, the video clips, the audio, all are my original. The video clips were filmed on an Android handset and later combined and edited.

"Absence" is a void of desperation, an emptiness of being alone (not that of choosing to be, but...), a weariness that oftentimes hits us all; and the tiredness, the defeat, the giving up, the surrender... i try to fill it with what i can create (otherwise i have far fewer privileges! ), and fell grateful for what there is; otherwise there is not much in there!!!  There is an absence...

In all this absence, thank you for being.]

-----------------

i

at once

a loss of existence!

picked up by some stranger

and pocketed along

a road to an alien land!

dropped somewhere

i, a friend for play!

Time’s overflow

but closed by Death’s embrace!

a bridge between two worlds

crossed over

again and again!

unheld tight to some bosom

and thrown away from

the very heart!

but still

grasped by some unknown hand

to be filled once

with an empty life!

somewhere,

someplace

under manhunt,

i, the unfound one!

in between life and death,

among crowd after crowd

of people, i,

the unassimilated one!

and yet entangled

alone in a stranger web

a sky that had wept without tears!

i am,

and yet i am not!

unwoven

ash after a dream!

just as such

the absence that is me,

nowhere noplace

the un-existence that is me!

of relations

of connections

among the whirlwinds of them all

i, the untolerated one

the non-existent one

the un-present one

i,

the absence…

silence…!

  *** --- *** --- ***

कुनै समय

कतै हराएको मान्छे म! 

कुनै अपरिचितले टपक्क  टिपेर

पोल्टामा राखि हिँडेको---

गुमनाम देशको बाटो!

कतै फुत्त खसेको

म, एउटा खेल्ने साथी!

समयको बाढी

मृत्यूले काखी च्यापेको म!

पटक पटक ओहोर दोहोर गरेको

दुई दुनियाँको साँघु!

कसैले उठाएर छातीमा टाँस्न नसकेको

मनदेखि कतै फ्याँकिएको म!

तर पनि

कसैले च्पाप्प हात समातेर

एक पटकलाई भरिएको रित्तो जिवन!

कहिँ

कतै

खोज्दा खोज्दै

नभेटिएको म!

जिवन र मरणको बिचतिर

मानिसहरुको भिड्---

तर पनि कतै नसमेटिएको म!

एक्लै एक्लै एउटा अनौठो जालोमा अल्झेर

बिना आँसु रोएको आकाश! 

म छु

र पनि छैन।

नसँगालिएको,

सपना पछिको खरानी!

यस्तै यस्तै नभएको म,

कहिँ कतै नरहेको म!

नाता र सम्बन्धको

भुमरीहरु माझ

कहिँ कसैले नसहेको म!

हुँदै नभएको म,

कतै नरहेको म!! 

 * * * * * * *

(Poem originally written in English; later translated into Nepali by the author. © Subarna Prasad Acharya, 2016, 2017; all rights reserved. Read out on YouTube by the author.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MMle6pFrNzk )

Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath and I

The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath, and I

“Suicide does not kill people, depression does.”

The world appears free. People move with their daily chores. Someone is laughing in a street corner, someone else is chatting with a girl nearby. A couple is seated at the table, enjoying drinks, and talking about something; the girl laughs, and by the look of it one can imagine he just said something funny to her. Some people just whiz by on their bicycles, chatting. And a couple passes, hand in hand, talking to each other in low voices that is just not audible.

The lawn changes, transformed by the blades of grass that shine with the sun and swing with the wind. The leaves of the trees change colour as the seasons pass by. People change the expression written on their faces with the emotions that beat within their hearts. There is love, there is hatred, there is understanding and there is ego; there is hope and there is care, there is also dream and there is frustration. There is bitterness but there is also the satisfaction of victory.  But, but…

Bitterness is not a medicine, loneliness is not a cure of internal suffering. A good company is neither replaceable nor can be found with searching: it needs to happen. The hands of time and the rhythm of the ticking must match in harmony for the correct alignment to take place. And when that does not happen one loses the right path, one loses hope, one loses the purpose of life.

I am caged within the confines of space-time, and my wanting or not wanting, wishing or not wishing, trying and struggling produce no meaningful meaning. Emptiness remains emptiness, bitterness remains bitterness, and loneliness behaves adamant. 

But what appears on the surface and what feels within are two completely different things. The inside and the outside seem to merge together as if in a continuum whereas the invisible wall that separates the two is always present there, as an invisible barrier for the continuum to continue both within and without. And that is the bell jar.

And while Sylvia Plath confessed that she attempted suicide more than once, more than even two or three or four or five times, I have tasted  that desperation only twice. And if I choose to pick up a third time, it will be over, I know for sure.

It is just an easy comparison: a fly trapped inside an inverted glass perhaps might feel the same way as a human trapped within the confines of circumstances beyond recognition, beyond comprehension, and beyond the power of one’s influence. Despite the unending struggles one has made, and one is still making, many things remain that simply do not change: some wounds never heal, some broken pieces can never be glued back together. And while Plath imagined her life confined within the transparent walls of a bell jar, I find mine as fluid and dynamic as the fish in fast running water. She could not escape out into freedom, I am finding it impossible to swim against the currents of bitterness. That is perhaps humanity in-between us that makes us the same: similar experiences shared across the stretch of space and time within the influence of similar circumstances. And just like a caged bird, I want to be free just as Sylvia Plath wanted to be, just as water always wants to be… and then escape. It does not matter where, but what counts is if…

[The image of the first edition of "The Bell Jar" by Sylvia Plath has been taken from wikipedia, is fair use under United States copyright laws...  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Bell_Jar and the direct link is https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Belljarfirstedition.jpg .]

Faces of Emotions

Faces

Emotions are fluid: they melt, they flow, they solidify, they harden... It all reflects upon the conditions we find ourselves in, the experiences we gather as life progresses. Sometimes we cry, sometimes we get angry, sometimes, we feel pain, bitterness, angst... and sometimes we really feel over the moon. Sometimes we show it, sometimes we don't. Some of our faces reflect the emotions swelling inside us, some of us don't, and yet it is universal: suffering is what makes our emotions flow. We do not intend to, consciously, but subconsciously we let it go, we let it express on the outside.

We let it flow, we let it drop, we let it freeze, we let it pour, we let it drip, one by one, we let it swell, splash, crack... against the inevitable in a fit of bitterness, we let it melt again, and again...

We yearn for something, we hope, we dream, we plan and yet we live our lives without choices: life is the strange bird which flies with the wind. It knows how to beat its wings but it cannot go against the flow. No way! It cannot be dictated, directed, channelized, controlled: it just happens. The flow then, in a sense, dictates how its wings beat. If there were such a market where emotions could be sold and bought, if it was really possible for such a market to exist, what emotions would you have? What would you choose? What would you go for?? Which one would you want to feel???How much would you pay? How much would you give, how would you bargain, on the Emotic Street of life???

.............................   ***   ............................

FACES

(7 September 2004)

In the market place

where everything is sold

beyond all bargain

are faces on display –

rich face and poor face,

glad face or sad one,

dark or light, young or old

stare wide and plain.

State your choice

and take your way.

Which one would you buy?

Beyond the crowd

of ignorant men

away from the scene

are faces on display –

hard face and soft face,

loathsome or lovely,

artless or guilty, humble or proud

inquire again and again.

as you choose

so you pay.

Which one would you buy?

In that canvas of life

where appearance deceives

and sympathies vary

behind the black curtain

are faces on display –

dead face and live face,

sweet face or bitter one,

welcome or hostile, pleasant or angry;

Which one would you love?

Which one would you see?

Here in this market 
come and buy me, me, me! they say.

Hopeful or forlorn, beautiful or ugly,

familiar or foreign

faces to play –

false one or true face

wait upon, wait again

for another bargain;

take your pick

and carry away.

Which one would you buy?

..........................   ***   ...............................

(This composition first appeared in the anthology Dandelion in 2006. The one appearing above has been slightly edited and altered for the purpose of clarity. Copyright reserved with the author.

The image used in this post is a photo montage created by the author using some of the author's google plus followers. The final image has been flipped and inverted. The author thanks and apologizes at the same time for including some and not including others in the montage due to space constraints. No harm intended in any manner, whatsoever.)