An Ode to Pain

It was a glorious world a long time ago. There were summers and springs and colours falling gently in a soothing breeze. There were smiling faces and happy thoughts and loads of cheerful things to talk about. There were merry sounds circling in the wind; but of course that was a long long time ago. Now there is only a perpetual winter and no warmth even to relieve the pain of a dead, cold monotony. But atleast the wall does not move. It is a thing of white layered over with the ashes of a hundred memories. A projector into the past and the future. A reminder of things that blur in the brain, of all the nothingness that awaits in the future. A brick wall. A wall of burnt clay. And I can stare at it and know I still am, as it is. Not much more to do now.

I am alive. I eat, breathe, sleep, shit and do all those vulgar things that make up everyday life. Or is it the daily death. And I breed maggots near the window too where the sun glances in occassionally. Of course I was not always like this. I used to believe too in movement and the frustration of hopes. I used to run and jump and conjure ideas to change the world. I remember vividly picking up my first yellow banana peel lying on the gray, cold cobblestones in a far away city and dumping it into a cold, gray dustbin on the busy corner so nobody slipped on it in their hurry to get to where they were going. It was a Sunday and I think now it was odd there were no carnivals that day. Sundays seem to remind me now of carnivals when people danced merry jigs on the streets and traipsed home jolly. But maybe I do not have a good memory. Or they just stayed in to rest from their Creations.

There were rats where I live now. Rats. Now I. Living off the refuse of the daily drones. And before the rats, there was a nightclub where people used to dance Friday nights and Saturdays too. Shows how things change. The worm that eats the king that eats the fish that eats the worm. Full circle. Men in between so things go their sweet way in a hurry. The rats were chased off of course when I still had the mind to. Now I just sit and stare.

Someone once told me I was destined for great things. He made me what I am. Not that he knew I would end up this way but still. Maybe I should just get up now and walk away. Only I have forgotten how to. Not to walk but to walk away. He taught me that too. You just don't walk away from things. You take them on. And I am still fighting the good fight, am I not? Waiting. Sitting. Refusing to walk out through the tempting door that brings in voices every now and then, voices that make me want to shout out loud sometimes, "Help" maybe, or "Save yourselves". There is no knowing what I would shout. Not when I know I will not.

I see her face often these days. A pity. I couldn't when she was near and now she will never be here. To see what I see. Those eyes in the first days were always lighted with some pretty fire. And her hands used to dance. Strange ways hands have of calling you near and pushing you away. And then slowly the light died from the eyes and the hands couldn't move any more. They could not even hold mine for support as she fell away. But there was no time then as there is now. Let the lost bury the lost. It was a time to strive, to seek and to find. And now I find her here. Strange.

Words too come to mind. Pretty poems and pointless rhymes. And the Moonlight Sonata blaring from the icecream vendor's moving cart. Painted red and blue with shades of white and gold, he used to be a favorite after school. After playtime. Before homework. I went to his funeral too. By chance. Was on the grounds for a friend's and they brought him in. Recognized the Beethoven and couldn't stop crying for a while. Red eyes. Good after a friend's funeral. Leaves an impression of trustworthiness.

The lizards on the wall make funny sounds. Not like the ones back home. They used to hide from mother. Came out only when it was really dark and I the only one to spot them. Mother was always one for order. The lizards their due and the milkman his. Cried a lot when I went off to college. Cost her a lot of second jobs. And early breakfasts. She was always there to see me off. To school, to college, to work. Had to see her off myself when the complications came. Heart troubles they said. A fist's worth of a life's pain.

Father took it pretty well considering. He had second jobs too and sometimes a third. Never was around long enough to see movies with. Friends are for seeing movies with. Fathers bring in the money to get popcorn and tickets. There were sounds at night of doors opening and the wood creaking but not much to recall from the early days. Later, he used to hold hands with Mother when the train was leaving, waving after it was out of sight. But he is out of sight now. Has been a long time since I did not see him.

There were a lot of friends in school and lots more in college. Fun to spend time and money with. Laze around, fool around, do fun things with, and then it is time to leave. Some stayed but not many. I still talked to them until it was time to move up or down - depends on who was on which elevator. And a few of them will come too if I send out invitations to my own funeral. Have to do it and see how many do come. Like Mark Twain or Huck Finn.

Then work. Lots of it. More than anything else. The great race and the big dreams. Offices all shiny and money crisp like cardboard or plastic. Thing you buy things with to do things with. Had lots of it in my time and lots of them too. Now no place to keep them. So dumped it all outside a friend's house. Might be of help to him. No use to me any more.

I came here quite by accident. Don't remember exactly when or how but I do remember not looking for this place. One of those things that strike your fancy at first sight. Draw you in and you don't want to leave. A symbol. Of what you are, what you have been, what you want to be. An old, failing place where worms breed. Eating away slowly what was once a nightclub, a dump. A memory of things that have been. I don't have much now, don't see much, don't eat much and consequently don't shit much. But I am alive. And there is the wall. In front of me. All the time.

Questions

Two questions keep plaguing me: What has life given me that I did not pry out of unreluctant hands for myself? What have I done for myself that was not given me by helping hands and friendly hearts? The first makes me despair of life, making me the centre(and everything) of my world, erasing all meaning out of life; the second makes me despair of ever doing anything that could not have been done by anybody else in the same position. Every so often I feel glad of having accomplished something and then I realise that either I merely am a parasite feeding off others, or horribly worse, it is all merely another short respite from a meaningless trudge towards the top of a hill knowing the rock will roll down any minute. The life of Sisyphus on one hand and that of a swaddled baby on the other. Which do I choose for my greater glory? What ring of thorns do I devise for myself to get out of all this holy mess? Who will I forgive and by whom forgiven? That makes more questions but they do not plague me.