A Tiny Tale Poem by Aadil Hingorjo

Raw-haired guy sat closer to me, and mumbled
I would remember how they mistreated us
That young handsome boy told me last night
A cup of tea in wintry mid-night, and the cafe
He was tearful, but controlled it all so well
His mother was troubled; his sisters suffered
His father, he said, was hijacked to the hooks
Hijacked by his first wife and his elder sons
I would write how they tore us, he complained
While saying all that he was occupied by anger
He was sensible in many ways; sensitive too
How he was brought in, and how he grew then
His life breathed like a story full of aching miseries
I couldn't say anything to him; I just fell silent
I tried to encourage him, but he didn't care
His smile and the sobriety was perfecting him
He wanted to expose all, but he was helpless
And even he couldn't have the writing nerve
He wished to have that ink, and that eye
Otherwise his heart expressed utmost honesty
Light of the life a sort of dimmed his persona
But the same light was a huge hope to him
Enlighten me O writer, he put a humble request
He wanted to be guided a little about symbols
Symbols through which he could reveal himself
He looked life an aggrieved yet a serious soul
My shivering self exchanged a few tiny tales
Some scattered words that could hearten him
I don't know would they be enough for him,
Or would he not be safe under that shelter too..
I don't know whether the mess would die down
And the currents to him would be minored
I remember he laughed when bidding me bye
He was calm; he was calculated, and confident
I'm sure he'd create masterpieces someday
The man in himself was an entire island!