Poet On a Motorbike...

Welcome to a world of pleasure and relaxation... a literary art gallery which aims to engage ones spirit....

Wednesday, 16 June 2010

The diary of a protagonist

I fear the darkness around the corner,
The open fields of gold leave me yearning for more,
The pain is unbearable, so is the wait.
With no tall tales to tell, no friends who’d whine over
Life starts right when it’s about to end
It’s a cruel tale, but isn’t all

My name is James Mackey, I am 37 years of age and  I’ve been diagnosed with  cerebral tumour. It’s been 2 months, 4 days and 3 hours since I’ve been diagnosed with this horrible agony.  I was fighting fit, enjoying life, single...I had what everyone wished for. Without much hard work I’d been blessed with all the material fruits of life. Now, in a corner of the house, I lay, shivering, trembling waiting for that inevitable day. There were many nights like these now, when I would wake up, sweaty and terrified. Unable to sleep, I’d gaze into the fire from the fireplace. The fire rose in all its glory, enslaving anything in its path, making you fall in love with it. But soon it would die down too. Leaving, just a pile of ash, in remembrance. The slow music just made the pain worse, but I kind of fell in love with that pain. The soothing sax, my hands trembled now when I played it. It was one of my very few friends who hadn’t abandoned me.  When the pain became unbearable I would take the tablets which would help me sleep.  My sleep had become so disoriented now that I had to take twice of the recommended dosage. Not that it was going to make any difference in prolonging or shortening my life. But it did, it did help me sleep; away from all the terrors and the pain, I would sink into a world of calm and peace.  My maid says that I slept like a baby. Hardly anyone knew about my illness, the ones who knew couldn’t either deal with it or didn’t want to.
I’d woken up that day fresher than before; I finally had a good hair day and not a grey hair. Time was of the essence here, I had to start afresh, I was going to live each day like it was the last. Walk into my death with ease and style. First on the list was getting reacquainted with all the past flames. This wasn’t going to be easy and no one expected it to be. First up would be Clara, she was 20 when I met her, red hair, that vivacious body; if ever you needed a reason why god made women, she was it. Unsophisticated, fun, and wildly entertaining were few of her selling points. The last time I saw those green eyes, it had pulled the whole world down on me. Fresh out of college our relation was all spontaneous and fun.  There was no doubt that this ship would sail. We were together for 2 years, and for all the crazy stuff we did we could write a book. “Alibis from a lost cause” we would call it. Life was just perfect, just like any teen would want it to be. The year was 1995, I had finally graduated. It rained heavily that night of cold September, but it still didn’t deter the sight of tears falling from eyes. Her black mascara was all ruined, she looked terribly bitter. I had said goodbye and set sail to capture more dreams. With the passing years, many had come into my life, Cynthia, Emily, Amber but there was never any love, no memories attached.  Although, I would, always remember Cynthia, thanks to the scar on my face.
 Saira, an old college mate helped me find Clara. She still lived in that broken down house, although it looked very different, it was all dark without the addictive laughter’s of the Robinsons, the dog looked grey and frightened and too much in pain to move. The house looked like it would come down any second. Her green eyes still burnt a hole in my heart. “Clara” I called out to her, she hardly recognized me.  Clara’s had been a tragic case. After I’d left her, her use of illegal drugs rocketed. She fell in love soon with someone she’d met at a rave party, everyone envied the couple, but it was not to be, less than a year into marriage a tragic accident claimed his life. Clara was shattered; she moved back with her parents, Mr and Mrs Robinsons more than happily accepted her back into the family. Clara was always experimental, her reckless lifestyle, endless lovers and partying had taken a toll on her. But she changed; she was turning over a new leaf. Nothing would prepare her for the agony that was to follow. Her parents were brutally killed in a blast which claimed the life’s of 5 other innocent people. It was something she could never come out of. Everything happened in front of those green eyes, not a drop of tear she shed. Five years on after the tragedy she had no sense of time or place, by then she had become a complete addict, often returning sexual favours for shot of cocaine or heroine. Now 15 years after I had bid her adieu I had come back. She looked frail, and nothing like the angel I knew.  She had dark circles around her eyes, her arm amputated due to frequent drug use. Clare had just been released from rehab. 

1 comment:

  1. Not bad man. Suggest you give the reader, the time to breathe. :)


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