Flaws in the Statue
How tall I stand,
The curves in my physique,
The stature in my statue of resilience,
The gestures in my breath,
Some archeologists come to measure-
The width, the breadth, the distance.
But, nobody comes to understand-
Understand the silence that I build
Brick by brick,
Layer by layer,
Well.........
Who will see the flaws in the silent statue?
Who will understand the pain it hides behind its grand hieghts?
Who is going to understand the invisible battle it fights daily to stay so strong?!
The flaws in the statue and stature remains,
The faults in our stars,
In our skies,
In the palms,
The flaws in our thoughts,
In our words we speak could not hide the depth,
Or, show the pain,
The eternal suffering-
So glorified!
In every breath I succumb to closure-
Day by day I come closer.
Closer to endings,
Perhaps, sometimes the renewal of new beginnings.
But, Who is going to discover the vulnerabilities of the ice cold river stoned to death?!
The crucifixion of the innocence,
So early!
So tragic!
And, haunting!
The memories they don't pass away,
They lingers,
Lingers long enough to kill a person-
Slowly and gradually,
Bitterly and profoundly,
They stalk.
Only love could cure-
But,
We do love the people who speaks the same language of pain we know.
We recognize the pain in their voice-
We recognize them who has endured the grave of pain,
Who have measured the depth of it are on the same page.
Pain that we glorify-
Remakes us, our being,
Reshapes our journey,
We get along with them who walks on the path,
Who has mastered the art of understanding.
Hey, the aspiring lover boy, do you understand the pain I hide?!
It's beneath my cheerful smile- the mask I wear,
The outburst, the burnings that I cover up with extra pounded work loads,
You will find me in the abode-
The productive cage where I reside,
I recite the theme of love and loss-
I recite the poetry of grievances on every other day over there.
My corpse is laid back in the moving body you desire.
To reach there,
You need to speak the vocabulary of my soul's language,
You will have to understand my grief,
Pay homage, lie beside me silently,
Gently stroking my hair.
Cause, you know, there are few people,
The rarest ones- who keep their grief alive,
As long as they are alive!
The doves of grief dives!
To love them you have to be able to love their grievances too, my dear!
Otherwise, they are happily lost in their realm of pain,
Wailing silently in the woes,
Waiting to disappear in the mist,
They are too comfortable with the pain,
Cause, It's familiar.
The only stroke of painting they know is: Pain,
The only song they hymn is about pain,
And, the only vision they have is dreams of pain,
The artist knows how to write stories and poems on pain,
Cause, It's too personal,
It's her lived experiences of only gain.
They don't let any stranger who doesn’t know the heights of pain!
As they know they deeply desire to fly-
Fly above the sky lowering down the wings of grief,
They want to brief the world in their eyes,
They want to draw a different picture this time,
Deeming with cheerful light,
That pronounces letters of love,
If only they could permit anyone who has the similar content of pain,
Dense and deep,
Allegorical and metaphorical,
Something magical to be transmuted.
Let's connect with the grieving eyes-
When two eyes meet,
Let them speak the language of grievance,
Pounding hearts bonded through hurts,
Let them speak through wailing eyes.
©® Farheen Bhuiyan Nancy
Time Frame: 12.57 pm, Mirpur Cantonment.
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