the perpetual act
//we are the light at the end of the tunnel. we're just
fumbling for the switch. //
It's not a big deal. It's a play. All of us, actors. Very
good ones. Running on our beats. Beats embedded in our hearts, beats screaming
in our heads, beats getting louder and louder, as if they're leading up to
something big, something important. Something different. But nothing's
different.
We're walking. Still unclear about where, or why. There is a
script. There must be, for the words we say are sparking connections in people
and new characters are easing into the play, developing vigour, and progressing
further and further till they fall out of words, till they have no more lines
to say. They leave in quiet exits, without a song to bid them farewell, without
a pause to see where to leave for. They just leave.
But it's somewhat peculiar. There isn't a mirror to see our
faces and know where our expressions are going wrong. No soundproofing to hear
ourselves screaming on the loud stage. No limelight to see what to focus on. We
just stand there, looking on, screaming out, smiling away, even as the world
looks like it knows where it's headed.
I'll tell you a secret. It doesn't. Its characters change
roles in every other scene. Its scenes change facts in every other week. Its
weeks change plans in every minute.
And in this dilemma of imperfection, one semicolon tries to
go on, unfinished, undone, un-bent by the changing world. And it trails, its
tail short but heavy, saying only one thing, over and over, "This is not
the end. The show must go on." And the music beats play again.
the perpetual act
Written by Yash Raj Talan
[note to self: life goes on]
