They pour along the stretch of the streets
Like dogs let loose on a rabbit chase,
Except that these don’t have
Half the focus rabbit-chasers have.
A man here with steel-rigid gaze
Walking purposely towards my left;
A teenager there critically appraising
Every person that crosses his view.
Half an hour later I see the same man
Return with face still and grave,
A bottle of gin making his hand shake
As he staggers past the teenager;
Whose gaze is now fixed on
The lower part of a passerby lady,
His eyes swearing
They would follow her to the grave.
They are all there:
Flocking to and fro the street of life;
Samples of humanity
Trying to define and achieve purpose.
See this medical doctor
Happily take a break from consulting,
To pour out himself into words,
To make his surgeon’s fingers busy.
As a writer.
From the balcony
Of the second floor
Of his hospital.
The calm city poet is at it again.
While playing chess, as much as I can concentrate and block out outside noises, there is an inside noise now. This filtered through from the outside.
The noise of the splashings of the men swimming in the stream of life below.
It’s a lovely view from here, but a bit scary. I do not think it’s because of the height. I have sat over the roof-edge of our three-storey building at home once or twice. Now, I am only leaning on the balcony of the third -of five floors.
I am not one for the spotlight, I guess. I feel naked out here. I feel everyone is looking at me all at once, from the commercial van drivers to that young man-in-red pushing a car in the middle of the busy road. I feel like I am going to faint anytime. I feel like my phone is going to drop from my very cautious fingers. I feel like I am on the top of the world. (And not in a euphoric way this time.)
They don’t know what I am doing here. Many cannot even see me. Ignore my earlier anxious whining. They actually are NOT looking up. I am conspicuous here, but they don’t see me; and it’s only evening.
I know there are always the active and busy elements in this stream below me. Let me sample the idle ones. They should be able to consider their environment more accurately. For all they know, I could be a sniper with a gun aimed at anyone of them. And they would have absolutely no idea!
See the trio. Sitting on a bench are these young relaxed men. For a moment there, I thought THAT one was looking up at me. Then I see the lady who got his attention. They are the “scopists” I encountered in the “paraders and viewers” episode of this series.
I see! None appears to be indulging in any social vice. Wish I could climb higher and see more-secure spots.
I can see some houses in a distance. Some of the windows are open and the curtains drawn aside, but I can’t see what’s happening in the rooms.
Hope I won’t be sued for privacy infringement. Well, if you can’t sue a frotteur who masturbates rubbing against an unsuspecting lady at a busy station, then why and how would you sue a pair of innocent eyes who are gifted with insight and farsight! (NB: I am not longsighted on lenses!) I am just a curious observer, with my raffia-woven hat on, my gourd of palmwine by my side, lounging under my white shed; and observing the lives of men swimming in the stream of life flowing by me.
I have seen many seemingly idle ones, and none just seems to have noticed me.
How shortsighted we are!
Sometimes events happen around us, and we don’t even take notice. We don’t read our immediate environments well. We are blind to things happening in the society. We are oblivious to the lives of those dear to us. And we are completely ignorant of the unseen world which beats very loudly beneath the very thin ribcage of this world. A body that has been worn out and gaunt; by the effects of decadence, and times and seasons gone by in this world system. So much so, that the pulsation of the supernatural is so evident.
And even funnier is the fact that we are totally unaware of the next second (time) ahead of us!
I am on night duty today, I got my banana on my table, having loaded myself with a toxically/”poisonously” peppery meal during the day.
The outside nightlife calls…
I see him now downstairs. He is walking as though he has not a care in the world, his protruding belly bearing signs of a “good living”, his left arm frequently rubbing his bare head(cleanly shaved). No one would know he just left the hospital. He came in some minutes before limping and groaning from a terrible waist pain. Thank Father-God for my life; I was on hand to help him.
The street appears less busy tonight.
A middle-aged man in white gown, walking beside a younger woman who is in shorts, catches my attention. A funny pair, given that culture, plus certain religious doctrines, should have raised eyebrows. The man is not putting on any foot-wear. Well, his religious belief. Frankly, I am not aversed to it. They stop here and there, as if contemplating on some serious issue. Maybe I can’t tell why exactly because I am not yet a good gesture reader.
The usual is happening: cars and people going to and fro in the stream of life; so many going to places; some not going anywhere in particular; some stationary and selling wares; some parading the streets, advertising themselves to members of the opposite sex it seems.
Sometimes I see thse mini-ware sellers and I wonder how much profit they really make. Are they just doing it to fulfil some sense of activity (even though little productivity)? Well, at least, they serve the need of the occasional client who approaches them. But, how do these three family members at one stall selling just bread manage to ever make ends meet from just that? There are many other stalls around selling similar goods and so reduce the client base of this stall.
Just beyond the street, into the darker residential areas on the other side from me, there is some jamming livening the air. It is Monday! What on earth is happening there? Well, I have noticed that in these parts, people don’t need “spectacular reasons” to throw local bashes. (At least, not spectacular to me!) Funny the zone doesn’t appear well-lit. I wonder what many other activities are going on there besides the actual dancing and singing and jollification.
That person hissing couldn’t possibly be hissing at me. The dark night has done a fairly good job of concealing my identity and my possible purpose. There are many more fanciful sights than some random person up in a building with a phone in his hands.
From this floor, I see further into the night. Busy streets besides this immediate one. The stream of life stretches on. Men come and go. Men talk and walk. Men buy and sell. Some beggars; some paraders; some stalkers; some loners. Some looking forward to a home of rest, comfort and love.
- From My Veranda: First Floor… (ifeelshadows.wordpress.com)