A completed poem

I'm a poem.
A completed poem.

The boy was in his last year of his high school. His name is Animesh. It was almost next to impossible to resist his charms because of his really big dreamy eyes and lips which were more rosy-pink in colour than a newborn, but he was very silent in nature. He was a decent boy with blushing cheeks. Just like his other batch mates he had also woven his own dreams with utmost care. He was always fascinated by novels and poems, and naturally was drawn towards the art of literature. Most of his notebooks were filled with beautiful forms of poems and free verses in every nook and corner.

Although, Animesh's parents had some different plans about his career. They, much like every other mediocre parent, wanted to see him as a MBBS. His mother constantly daydreamed about his son being the best doctor in the world, and how well, and classy he looked in that white apron with the stethoscope around his neck. After all, barely five out of a hundred people get this golden opportunity to deal with medicines and are worshiped and honored by the common people at the same time. In this profession, you get to heal people, and in return, you get heaps of respect in the process.

But Animesh invariably wanted to become a poet. According to him, being poetic is the best feeling one can ever have.

The days passed, and the final year results are out with the name of Animesh leading the list. He has highest in many subjects including that in Bengali and English. Everyone came to cheer him up and rewarded him with gifts and sweets. It's that pivotal moment in one's life when you have to choose the subject which you want to pursue to higher studies, but as a matter of fact it's never the student who gets to make a decision, rather it is the elderly members of the family who does the same, and thus reducing the burden to make one's own selection and allowing him to chase a goal which is far away from the one which he has dreamed about.

Similar incident took place in his family. With continuous importunities of his beloved mother, and extreme mockery of his respected father, Animesh eventually applied for Physics Honors in one of the most reputed colleges.

His college was a bit far-flung from his home. The walking distance was one hour and if he could manage to bore a bus then it would take him thirty to thirty-five minutes to reach his most hated destination on earth.

With each passing day, Animesh started to lose his charm. He looked frail and older than his chronological age, and as thin as a stick. He never confronted his parents ever again and not for a moment expressed his feelings to anyone. Animesh didn't have many companions in college like he had in school. He avoided people for some reason. For him everything ended the day he failed to fight for himself, when he couldn't voice out what he actually desired to do in his life.

Every day when he used to head towards home with eyes full of tears, every little thing annoyed him and appeared chokingly thick to him. The crowd, the traffic, the bus, the trees, the canopy of stars, the white floating clouds on the sky and even the half-moon which once was an object for his poetry writing.

Still, he had some hope in his small and fragile heart. On the way to his homecoming he always used to build up exactly two lines of poetry in his mind which he later noted down in his favorite notebook from high-school.

Today's fourth August. Animesh's birthday. His mother is busy cooking all of his preferred dishes. Starting from Mutton kosha to Chingri Macher Malaikari, from Simui er Payesh to Misti Doi. The menu consisted of all the items which Animesh could devour in no time.

It has been raining heavily outside since daybreak with squalling winds hitting the window panels hard.

Animesh was somewhat engaged in writing something. He was so engrossed in his study table with his head bent over that nothing could be seen vividly. Piles of crumpled paper balls are scattered in every corner of the room.

All of a sudden, Animesh stopped writing and put the pen gently in the pen stand. A smile was pressed against his dried out lips. It felt like after ages he was ecstatically happy and his eyes were shining with hope and exhilaration. The air he breathed out, carried the year-long tension and anxiety away from his body because the poem which he commenced writing in his last year of high school has now finally reached completion.

The last two lines of the finest poetry he has ever written are:

"Don't forget me O beloved

String the garland with the beads of our memories"

The day was going quite magical until a darkness engulfed the room completely. After the storm is over, a glittering ray of sunshine entering from the window wiped off all the darkness in the room.

A large crowd of people have gathered outside Animesh's house. Everyone was talking and interrogating about him. Some of them did their best by showing little sympathy to his parents, and other family members.

The door of his room has been broken down. Four men from their locality helped them to cut the rope and laid the body on the bed. The deep mourning of Animesh's mother resonated through the halls of the whole house.

Amidst all these chaos, a gust of wind striked the study table of his room, blowing away all of his hand written novels and stories here and there. The shrivelled and lifeless rose petals fell from the flower-vase on the same page of the notebook where Animesh had given a new life to a mere poetry by taking away his own.

Yes, I'm that poem.
That very completed poem.