Depressed Actor

He plays this role quite often,

‘I am deprived’

thus

‘I am depressed’

Looking feverish,

Burning inside,

As though,

his rage changed its course

and

Started targeting self,

passions chased desires,

Never returned with his price,

Consuming life source,

Tired from resent, repent and represses,

There was no one

Who didn’t know the address of that actor,

He made quite an impression,

The trends changed,

He gets to play a healer now,

His mirrors are appalled,

Preparation needs him to take them down,

Release they called – the burning of his earlier attire,

They are mixing his expressions with lavishness of his breaths,

He needs to walk a lot now to marinate prostrate with stride,

He is told to hold,

a needle, a brush, a sapling, nature’s sight

The practising of his lines aren’t linear,

Some are effortless,

Some forced out ‘fine’

One thing is abundant though,

His breath and his changing defines,

He slows down and read them again,

Repeat from release again,

Learning should stick,

Stick the notes for lifetime,

The mirrors go up now,

Suddenly the resemblance is surreal,

It’s him, it’s his address,

The house looks different,

Gifts he wants to give and packed with purple bows everywhere,

With backdrop of uplift,

Something else comes calling,

The mirror reflects its name,

A tad bit extravagant,

Abundant in praise,

Available for mass production,

He finds they are one

‘healed and healer’

The mirrors now understand the game,

“Loving” he calls his name…

– rupika moitra

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