Act

By Vidarshana Prasad

You are the main act. 

We are put on the stage before we know it. It's too late to realize that we've been there all along. A tiny stage in front of us, an audience all waiting to see what we do. What is the plot? What is the act? When does the curtain close? How do we prepare when the curtain closes? What will happen when it opens again? No body can tell you.

The man in the mask stands in the corner. He watches. Every move, every dialogue, every mistake and every achievement. A cold faceless mask, still and unmoving. But you know it, the man in the mask is the one with the answers. 

An unemotional puppet audience sits in rows in front of us. No one reacts visibly, but you can tell the judgement, even if they don't react. What is the role of this character? Our character. What is the point of this catharsis? The diction, the song and the spectacle. 

But there is no moment to ponder because before we know it, the curtain has already closed. The curtain has already opened. The curtain has already closed. 

The curtain has already opened. 

It's time for the next act. 

How many has it been? Is it the second? Or the third? We play our part, without even knowing what it is, we are rushing towards the end, chasing and chasing. Running till there is an ache in our bones. The faceless audience keeps watching, some stay and some leave. But all we wish for them is to stay. To stay until the curtain closes. Stay when it opening again. The ache continues, a weight slumped on our shoulders, the man in the mask keeps watching. Watching and waiting. 

Hopelessly we wonder if we were ever suited for this role. As we throw away our 'human form', before we realize we are suffocating. Suffocating in this tiny stage that we didn't wish to be in. Wondering if this was a role that we've been suited for. Hoping for a helping hand, a hand that could reach out to take the weight off our shoulders. To kill the ache in our bones. Wishing to get away, we run, we run as fast as we can towards the ending credits. Hoping to get something out of this storyline. The noisy thoughts, the beating heart in our heads, all we wish is to get off the stage. A stage too small for the being that we are. The man in the mask watches, and all we can do is wonder what those eyes capture. 

A monster, or a hero? What have we become? A comedy or a tragedy? With the cruel reality that we couldn't ever understand if the role we've been given is something we're suited for. 

Alone we cry out, without a place to call home. Why are we crying when we don't have a reason to. Hands reach out to help us but rot and wither away the moment we touch it. The audience watches. The man in the mask does not move. 

We spin, thoughts swirling. The world an endless spinning top. The cheers loud. The criticism even louder. Noisy and hazy. A string pulls us. And we tug blindly, helpless and looking for some form of direction. To escape the tiny stage. To shoot these thoughts, to shoot the loud beating heart. The curtain closes. The curtain opens. The string pulls.

The curtain closes. 

The man in the mask appears. What do their eyes truly see?

By Vidarshana Prasad