Suicide Note

Guest Post by Asim Khan

Part 1: The Introduction

I am an outsider
A view from inside
I will kill
Myself
And my own
Two angels
All that existed
For me and them
To return
To perfection;
As the sun rises tomorrow!

Part 2: THE GOLDEN BRIDGE

As life walks past,
Upon this golden bridge,
Symbols of our past
In distance, of unity and strength
From promise of slogans
Of “roti, kapra and makan”
To dazzling boards enshrined
Of our failures and mistakes,
Words golden and enticing
Of change and of progression
In hurry and in quarters,
This wave of humanity
In conflict or in peace,
In meanderings of their mind

Holding onto these rails,
In complete removal and silence
In peace and an ocean of smile
A beautiful woman and two angels
In patterns strange and exotic
In view, by us all and by none
A bridal dress upon her skin
Last few breaths, one last look
One last glimpse of life
Of its warmth and of its indifference
To end the beat, to become a bird

Will we ever find the answers?
To the questions, in her life
The first impulse
The first instinct,
As they will see, this act of fusion
Like the old traces of fire,
Upon ignition and reaction

As we stand there, me and you
Tied up in routines of our existence
For some, remains a lifetime to enjoy
And for her, the last moment
As she jumps this from that bridge
And two angels, with her in green

Sudden and instantaneous,
Pronounced dead, all gone,
Her beautiful dress in red
In blended with her blood,
Hands clenched in tight grip
An old note, the suicide note
To hold onto death
The only possession in sight
Creased and long,
Carefully written,
In a beautifully writing,
No names, no address
All left behind, all left behind,
As life walks past,
In hurry and in quarters

There lies the woman,
Her beauty and life
And two angels,
As the evening begins to draw,
Few silent stares, few broken conversations,
Few shots in black and white as I hear the clicks,
Cleansed they have the place, time to go home

There on the spot,
Still there, an old note
By this golden bridge, as she fell
The letters of her life,
In an instance of time, taken
Torn apart, as witnessed by all present
With symbols of our greed and indifference
Where once she lived and reasons
That torn her apart in seconds of our existence!

Part 3: THE LETTER

My name is hunger and poverty,
In this land of mayhem, my identity
Proud citizen of this nation, forgotten
Lost in this indifference of humanity
In this beautiful country and its corners
Live here I with my two children
In my home with no walls of protection
With empty stomachs and faith
And years of injustice, with voices silent
My name is hunger and poverty
Here I reside, inside this country
In absence, all that I once stood for
From years of my light and existence

I too have stood there in protests,
I too have knocked upon doors
For justice and change
Too little I have heard,
Too little has come from that promise
As I walk back, in my hunger and poverty
Many years in this misery, have spent
24 years of age, seems so distant and old
As I carry this burden and my friends
Two angels, in this hunger and poverty
I have no regrets, I have no shame
Carry I no opinion, only the routines that linger
As works brings me here and there
The product of forgetfulness, the convenience
Discarded and eliminated, my life
That is my fate they say suffer and don’t question

I too have read stories of laughter and magic,
So tired I am, nothing in me to recite
As I and two angels await with empty pots
My name is hunger and poverty
Followed I am by this in my silence and dreams
In this life of mine, in this country of freedom

Not a sentence or a word I will get in your conversations,
These lofty conversations on democracy and of change
Of justice, of humanity and of kindness,
Present I myself with last supper, my gift
Of conversation on food, and music of hunger
To these places of my arrival and decisions
No flowers, no prayers I shall receive only condemnation
As I plunge into darkness, as I rid myself of this pain

This life of mine,
Neither the sleep nor dreams
In my possession
This life of mine,
Neither the voice nor change
In my possession
As I lay awake
In search of answers not in my possession
Into such proportion this fear has grown
Submission to death, with such ease
Tomorrow you will find me, near the bridge
And two angels, no longer I can wait,
In those long queues, no longer my hands can take
The old stigma of indifference, I am too proud
No longer these promises, mean much to me

I am only 24 years of age
This weight of thousand years
And this urgency to escape from this body
My soul has no patience, in this dry and barren land
Upon my conscience, upon this body,
You just stare, in silence, as thousand’s thoughts come across
My features carved out of numbness in view

One day in another time
There with gardens and in chambers
As I lay awake, before the final hours,
One last attempt, just last breaths,
Only I will take these last ounces of strength
To settle my account, no longer I need you, or this state
Futile this effort to ask you, futile it is this place

Of all those efforts that I have taken and in vain,
My steps as I move towards my end, in nearness,
Nor an eye or soul will move, in this ocean of indifference
Only three I leave behind, as of their only daughter
And one who travels like whispers from one place to another
In search for few crumbs, with dignity and patience
Tired, too tired to carry this burden in my space and time

Only the creator and His court and justice, I await
Only 24 years, too old, all these years I have carried
They say life is beautiful, it carries you till eternity
Only few steps for me, neither this beauty nor eternity
Removal from this place and its existence, my requirement
My soul has no stomach; my soul has no dreams, the agreement

They say we have a choice, they say we have a voice
Where are those choices, where are those voices,
No choice I have but only to end myself,
Endowed upon me by my meanderings
Empty stomachs, and these 24 years of my life

Forgive me my creator, my Lord, my Allah, my Everything
As I take this plunge with my last breaths, to free myself
Not in madness or in trance as my mind remains intact
My soul has no stomach, my soul has no dreams
The perfect agreement, I have come to arrive, with myself
As I fly with angels towards you, let them be my witness
My soul has no stomach, my soul has no hunger!

Final Part: THE TRIAL

Stand there me,
To witness story of her life,
Unnoticed and unforgiving
It was I who killed her
I was there that night
In her hunger and poverty
As she wrote those words
The words, her suicide note

My hands carry no shackles
But in shackles my conscience
I was there on that bridge
As she flew into her own space
With angels and her bridal dress
In warmth of the sun and despair

My poetry could not save her
Neither the distance nor the knowledge
Neither you nor the State
Now all in place, for you to see
It was neither the hunger nor poverty
But our indifference and ignorance
How we all killed, one way or another
The notes, in our heads, to examine
This terrible sin of indifference
As the trial begins, as the conscience strikes
Knows it not to rest, knows it not the time!

Asim Khan