The Invisible Man

I am the invisible man. I was born in the remote rural obscurity of this desolate landscape. Poverty and deprivation had done their best to educate me well in the art of retaining my gift of invisibility. I was born with this common gift that I share with countless more of my kind.
Another feather in my stock of gifts is my immunity. This is also a commonality among our special breed of men. We are immune to hunger – a natural trait that we have acquired through years of malnutrition and our determined devotion and faith in pain and hunger. After all they have been our most loyal companion through our journey of life.
Hunger is a natural inheritance that was bequeathed to me by my starving parents before they gave up their gift of invisibility for a trip to Heaven. Apart from that I am blessed with no other possession worth boasting about.
My bones require no calcium for strength, instead it hardens with my heaven sent ability to endure regular
torture and flagellation at the hands of my Gods. My religion is patience and mute acceptance of humiliation from my God, who offer me bread at the end of my day’s draining of blood and sweat in the fields and brick kilns where I ardently toil. My Caregiver is harsh and so is my Heaven where I lie like a corpse along with others at the end of a hard day at work. Life is brutal, but my God is of the belief that I am ill suited for compassion and care.In my heaven I lie encumbered like the dead shoved in a mass grave along with many more invisible men. But my God provide me with food and sometimes wages — that is the highest act of wisdom known to us. My world revolves around work, food and sleep as to know anything better I must die and give up this gift of invisibility.
My hair, skin and soul smells of silent surrender to my God and his Heaven on Earth. I haven’t known life, I have known existence just like the stones in the marble quarry, the coal blocks in the illegal mines, the treated leather in factories, the harvest during the season, the mammoth buildings that house the greats of this land, the network of sewers that carry the cities filth.
I am everywhere, and yet I am nowhere. Someday when I wither and age like the trees, I will be uprooted and hurled back to the same obscure hamlets that brought me to this dark world of shadows.
My country exists through the eyes of my All Powerful Gods who control most of my life until the last drop of it can be squeezed out of my wriggled souls. My life is like the sunlight; taken for granted. My death will be a chapter on illness without doctor, medicine or cure because I will remain true to my invisibility until it’s my time to be kicked out of the show.
The sky is a dark shade of grey, the sun never shines and the moon never does on my horizon stay.
I will live and die like the flip of a slipper without causing any stir or alarm. It is best that way, as that will keep everybody happy in the end.


Published by brihaad

A dreamer, a thinker, an observer with a pen who prefers the solitary path to the bustle of life.

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