He was a young kid, lean, about 5’6 in height, subtly muscular in an unseen way, there was a slight birth-mark near his forehead that seemed to be the mark of a young man who had escaped the sheer tyranny of a former life with just an inch of life..his former life was probably dull and from his voice I could see that he was constantly in an overcrowded environment with sullen and sharp characters who stifled his free spirited heart with insults that were careful evasions of their own unresolved conflicts and pains, … his front teeth were slightly broken and they went along with the whole charm of the young man who had known an uncertain life before the rescuing force of hope had saved him, and had shattered away the deep darkness of the soul and revealed the power of God’s presence in an evil, hurting, clueless world … there was something seriously endearing about him, something so beautiful yet melancholic like a blues Jazz tune… something so unconscious yet pure and untouched by the pathos of a brute civilization that forcefully made a pure smile a haunted and forced one, he was the meek brother of innocence, the timid child who knew a broken home yet bravely endured the storm and watched from closed doors the abuse of his mother at the hands of an alcoholic father , there were dreams trapped in that confidence lacking soul, dreams of performing raw on stage , breaking free from the accursed curse of his life, the poverty, the hopelessness of the circumstances that surrounded him… of making those who laughed at his frame, or teased him wickedly in regard to his overall appearance , naive dreams of leading many to Christ, dreams, dreams and dreams … he was nearing his twenties, yet he had the appearance of a child lost in a big loud city, and had to throw away those emotions that wreak havoc and fear and had learned to accept the terrible agony of all life and separate himself from the small world that once was his and his alone… there was something deeply mournful about those silent eyes that he held within him, they appeared to hold some sort of regret within them, they appeared to glow with a soft, melancholic music, they appeared to echo many sad songs, songs that stuck to the walls, stuck to the valves in the heart and moved the soul into the streams of sorrow… I knew the kid well… for some strange, undefinable reason I felt a connection to his soul… and I decided then and there that I was going to be the artist who would bring out all the stray lines and the forgotten details of this loud person who concealed a silent soul.
The office meanwhile was consumed to its fading glories.. it was the final few hours of the evening, like the brilliant sky colors that dimmed with the slow descent of dusk, so was the emotion that slowly crept in when the evening came by with the strolling rings of lazy cyclists and the low sounds of vegetable carts passing by, the kid from the home with the slanting roof skipped rope alone under the bizarre and spilt yellow of the luminous street lights … the lights inside were peculiar and as appealing as raw starch, the young kid was pouring out his soul in his trademark style of giving less importance to his inmost feelings. I sat there, intent on making his words last, of ensuring that despite the flow of days and hours, his heart would get the acceptance that it deserved, of making sure that he felt accepted, gripped with the need to push beyond the press of my own burdens, of my own existential anguish, of feeling the screams and shouts of my limitations with foul voices, hearing the spoilt tones of my comfort zones, and in a land beyond all of that, I sat there listening to the young boy’s heart… I would’ve wished for the tender strums of a guitar, to perhaps create a song as delightful or as tragic as ‘Delilah’, my thoughts were pouring out in the voluminous force that they usually did when I was feeling that plunge into the depths of my soul…I nudged myself to stay on track, the kid had no one else to share his feelings, no one who cared or knew how to accept him in the way a follower of Christ could.. I was floating towards the end of the human spectrum, slowly losing my footing on gravity, slipping away into sweet musings that brought in the refreshing kiss of hope and love…The skies were a smooth pale black, beset by twinkling stars whose presence seemed more faint and unreal than immediate and satisfactory.
Meanwhile, the young kid, his young heart was afflicted with a conflict of love, someone whom he had mourned would never fancy someone like him had expressed an interest in him after a space of years, and he was terribly bothered, bothered by the sum of all the sermons and horror stories of love gone wrong that he had been conditioned to since time began, …I wondered if I was the right person to dish out cold, stern, unattached counsel about affairs of the heart… I was by no stretch perfect myself, I was the mistake maker, the sinner, the saint with the past, the hurting hero, the masked outsider, the heroic infant who saw the world through rosy lens, I was the sum of all the broken pieces knit together by a Savior slash Revolutionary’s love… but these people seemed to drift into my life for some strange reason… guided as though by a heavenly melody… often holding within their hearts unresolved pain and sorrow for being so ill treated by a cruel, wicked and hard world, and I welcomed them… I was somewhat of a stray and a reject myself , the only thing that I had in abundance to give anyone who wanted me was my attention… The kid seemed to hang in a cloud far far away, I did not know how to bring him back.. I waited for him to speak… someone he had once liked seemed to be interested in him at the moment, but right now he felt that he was too young for love, he wished to serve His creator, he had ambitions in his heart, dreams, he wished to become a man, he wished to heroically clear the terrible demons of debt that hung like starving ravenous wolves over his poor paranoid mother’s heart, who in his own admissions despite her sombre baptism slipped often into fits where curse words fell like shifting darkness in a fearful soul’s imagination … but he felt that power of hurt afflict him even when he was interested in making the right decisions… The more he wanted to send her away, the more it seemed like he was separating his own heart from the choice, the more it felt like it was she who was leaving him be and not the other way around, would he ever find love again…? Would someone as beautiful as her ever come into his life a second time…? Should he put aside his doubts and if’s and just plunge into and not worry so much about everyone else…? Oh the running, the silent weeping, the long hours of brooding, the cold feet, the hot panic…! The painful process that sends the mind into a maze filled with bending corners that induces a deep daze, for a brief moment I escaped away from the scene and started dreaming about a Revolution… I imagined myself as being the inimitable Grand master Flash, walking the flat cement roads, passing by the street sweepers, the vegetable vendors, hearing the siren of the train in the grand flat rails, weaving through dreams of being great, the houses contained tv watchers, unemployed pretty boys wiling away unaffected by life’s great call, ruffian school boys eager to showcase and perform their acts of aggression and indecency in the most unethical and irritating ways, there were mild eyes staring out of closed windows trying to find something important to stare at lest they turned back and stared at the hopeless tyranny of their life’s contents, the brazen skinned women each seemed suspicious at everything and anything apart from the fabric of everyday routines that involved milk men, delivery men and vegetable vendors, they treated everyone else to a terrible unfounded suspicion, wishing away the intruders that trespassed into their territory and domain with crude and hard stares, the kid was still talking… there was pain that made its way through the slowness of narration, through the despair brought on by a soul wandering in a barren plain searching for love, seeking meaning, establishing identity, creating a destiny… Was there someone who watched over us all..? Was there someone out there who listened to our deepest hurt..? Our most desperate cries…? Our hopeless agonies against the terrible afflictions of chance, of fate and reality…? Was there hope for any of us at all…?