The Man of Sorrow

There was this man, who always made me wonder if in his world the words joy and happiness ever existed. This is a man I used to know. Not really knowing in a deeper way as you may think but well, I knew his name, I used to see him – a lot, and alone. This, this is about a man whose mystery I would have loved to unfold and unveil, sadly I couldn't in person but I’ll try in writing. So let me pen this mystery man down.

The many or few times I saw him, his eyes were always dull and empty telling a story of sadness, he had dragged steps and slumped shoulders. He rarely smiled, and when he did, his smiles looked so dead and very plastic. His, wasn’t the kind of smile that we see in movies where a sparkle in the eye does the magic, no. It was always as if he was in a far away land or in a world of his own which only he understood. I’m not sure if he had friends or even family because this guy literally talked to no one. I wouldn’t call him a loner though. As I said, he seemed distant, in a world only he understood. So probably he had conversations- in his head. One day I met him on the pathway and said hi. Want to know his answer? Haha… silence. Yes. Silence. He looked at me as if he was fumbling for words, like he was afraid to utter a word and walked past choosing to remain silent. “Fear the silent ones,” they say. Those words came alive to me on that day.

Every time I saw or thought of this man, I wondered, was he hurt? What hurt him so bad that he decided to shut the world out and lock himself in? Did he loose something or someone dear? Do things change when he’s alone? Like, the sadness, the dullness, the coldness etc. All about him was and still is a mystery. You know, it’s a wonder how one soul can carry so much sorrow in a world that is fast moving with all kinds of vibes. I’ve seen people sad, but I penned him down because his sadness looked as if it was buried in a deep, deep layer of protection. This man was one man who was emotionally flat. My mystery man behaved as if no soul could listen to his pain. As if he had decided to wear a mask all his life. A mask of emotions.

Let me break this down further, I knew a man who was dead and motionless yet in all ways alive and breathing. I knew a man who didn’t even notice the wind when it was blowing, a man whose mind seemed stabbed and thoughts frozen. As I write about this man full of mystery, I’m reminded of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow who once said, “Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.” Maybe he was just sad and not cold, but there’s a thin line I know between the two. A very thin line and to date, I’ve failed to differentiate. 

And now I don’t know how to end this .The only thing I know is, I knew a man who was yearning. Yearning for love and affection.