Rhetorically Retarded Reflections Too Delicate to be Transformed Into Poetry-2 It all started when I just stopped shaving in the mornings and the hair started to grow covering a reasonable portion of my face. At first they looked greenish like the tender blades of grass growing in the distant dry fields a few days after the first rain. As it grew, the hair began to get darker and a couple of days later it started to itch which instigated my fingers to touch them gently and eventually I was pulled towards the mirror. I looked into the mirror with both of my palms covering my face as if the hair on my face, which did not become beard yet, simply did not exist. It’s not as simple as it sounds. Although the palms of my hands concealed hair growing on both of my cheeks and underneath my chin but they could not cover the space between my nostrils and the upper lips until the tips of my reluctant little fingers met there ,sacrificing the companionship of the ring fingers abandoned to tolerate the cuddling of the middle fingers alone. Thus, covering my face, or covering the hair growing on my face which did not become beard yet, I looked into the mirror and saw the man inside the mirror was also busy in this same ridiculous effort. We both (me and the man inside the mirror) felt awkward to confront each other in this way as we could not shake hands which were busy concealing the hair on our faces trying to grow into beard. So we removed the palms from our faces, revealing the hair invading the spaces on our faces, which we no longer could recognize as ours. I looked at the man in the mirror who was staring at me trying desperately to recall how we knew each other (I guess I had a similar expression on my face as well). We could have spent eternity in this effort but suddenly I saw a smile at the corner of his eyes which the hair on his face trying to grow into beard could not conceal. Although I could not remember whether I had ever met that man in the mirror but I could understand the meaning of the smile shining in the corner of his eyes. It was like understanding the meaning of the smile of a stranger I met standing beside me on a city bus when we realized that the couple, occupying the seats next to us, was preparing to get down at the next stop. I guess I had a similar smile in the corner of my eyes which the hair on my face growing to be beard could not conceal. Because the man in the mirror also took the electric high precision trimmer in his hand in exactly the same way as I did. And we both switched our electric high precision trimmers on that looked quite similar and with those similar looking electric high precision trimmers we began to trim the hair growing on our faces that could have become beard. The hairs began to fly in every direction like the grass under the lawnmower too shocked to utter a shriek. Since then every time the hair on my face begins to feel that they are growing into beard I get the opportunity to meet that stranger in the mirror and although we are still trying to remember where exactly we first met, we have reached a silent understanding with each other and together we have been teaching the hair growing on our faces that could have become beard the most important lesson about growing. I am sure they will realize, as both I and the man in the mirror have, what Sisyphus felt when he rolled the boulder all the way up on the top of the mountain.
Posted on: Mon, 09 Sep 2013 17:00:43 +0000
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