pond

very early cold morning
2 people walk back from chapagaon bus stop to their home
the turn before the always beautiful pond next door.
villagers and air full of cold quietness, looking at you
german words of feelings of a burial
the nice community pond mirroring all you need for life,
your eyes follow the looks of the others,
kept a boby floating in its middle, face down
looking at the darkness inside
more curious villagers piling up and
sorrounding the pond like an arena
no control over your eyes
feelings to new to handle
tv picture flashing in your brain of german fake crime, not fitting here
why
children running passed you
it was shivaratri festival yesterday
the only day of the year being allowed to smoke your head away and drink to that.
did he? possible. and tripped and fell right into the pond…
discovering yourself callling it a unnecessary and stupid death, his own fault,
instantly feeling guilty,
feeling guilty of judging without knowing
your head a mess, you walk
home, telling the wardens not let any child of the ground, which they mostly did already.

collect papers and rocco
and walk back, same way, to school, to the workshop of teaching methods
knowing now he is a villager from here, diappeared in the middle of the night
reaching the pond with still climbing amount of villagers and police
long bamboo stick reaching out
to discover, recover, disturbing the feeling of his peace in the pond.
there is more to come this was not it. who is it?

getting reminded that you have forgotten your camera for the workshop,
go back again, thinking:
good that nepalis can t affford a photo camera

come again
unconciously walking in slopes of wanttosee and noneedtosee
and hardtosee because of the spectator wall
he is out, laying at the steps
people had moved down to see who he is.
whining. two men supporting an older woman up the hill, braking down, being lifted up
again and again
the mother
tears well up
feeling guilty of your prejustice earlier on.

different world
a workshop with teachers of svtc
tellings of the man.
he disappeared at 2 in the night. away from his sick wife, sick sister he couldn t afford to support anymore. how much pressure for a man from here must it be, and they are tough, to commit suicide.
memories, remembering the day. againagainagain
is there need to remember? for how long? when do they fade? should they?
revive them as much as you revive happy thoughts?
every day I pass by the pond.
it will never be the romatic pond I photographed once.

a week later I got to know he was my age.

things pass ways and ways pass things to be changed forever.