A boy comes with a life long expectations, born as a nail to fit into the coffin — the societal box — the pyramids of Egyptian standard — the Pandora box of Greek Epimetheus.
A boy is a box, born to fit into many circles and holes — holes deeper than Calcutta black hole — a 20ft dark airtight cell where boys choke to death alive.
Growing up as a boy here is like a drone on autopilot mode left alone to sail through the turbulence and storms.
Boy bolts up, gathers courage to push through, but sometimes, boy gets tempest-tossed, pounded and hit by the unforseen storms or life adversities.
Amidst the endless travel and zeal to fit into the societal coffin, to fly beyond the clouds, to hit the high heaven, to become an island of many nations, sometimes, the fuel gets used up. The propeller stops working.
At Twenties, boy gets hooked up in between Bermuda Triangle. Boy loses all flight controls and vision gradually becomes blurry.
Boy finally obeys Isaac Newton law of gravitational force. Boy is down, nursing scars and counting the stars he couldn’t touch.
Boy is a drone, crashed and sinking deep into the dead sea. A wreckage of Odysseus homecoming ship.
Boy is an abandoned orphanage home — a deserted nation — a desolated land of nought.
Boy hits the psychologist checklist, Boy becomes therapist general out patient.
Boy suffers, cries and dies in silence.
Boy becomes sand particles, reducing to dust bit bit till he breaks into sad news on the People’s TV.
A boy is a box, born and destined to live to die trying to fit into many circles and holes.
Written by Jamiu Ahmed