Rain, Mud and I


by Nafis Salman

Is it drizzling? I didn’t see the sky when I got out. Some ironed cloths in my haversack, 3 notepads in my side bag and 3000 taka in my pocket; I guess I’m all set.

Are people staring at me? Do they know?! Did anyone called me from behind? No, no one did. I’m walking fast. The moment I thought I needed to be careful, I slipped. My fresh pants have a new muddy texture now and so does my bag. The rain is getting heavy now.

It’s nothing!

I boldly lie to myself. I must move forward, I must push forward. I am standing confused on the crossroads. Can’t go back, nothing’s ahead. Right I go to my relative’s, left to my friends.

I don’t need charity!

I lie again. How can I get a roof over my head? Apparently, that has to wait. Blood does not mean anything to me, so doesn’t God. I felt He gave me a sarcastic flinch. There is mud on my hands. My white shirt is becoming more transparent with each droplets of rain, but the mud is still there.

I am nothing, I have nothing.

One truth after several lies.

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