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The Man Called Nepal

TaJuan is an aspiring writer hoping to gain experience and growth through publishing passionate works, like this one, online for the world.

Nepal.

That is the name of this man in my town.

Rather, that is what we called him.

After his place of origin.

For we didn’t know his true name,

And neither did he.

Once an educated man,

With high prospects,

A future brighter than any star known to man.

Which makes the current state

Of the man currently called Nepal

Even more depressing.

Maybe like Icarus,

He flew too close to that bright future,

And fell viciously to the Earth and beyond.

Or maybe,

By some sick,

Some twisted,

Some cruel form of fate,

He had to have this horrid luck.

From the microsecond he was conceived,

He was forever destined to live this life.

A life where a country treats him inhumanely

Simply due to his ancestors’ sun exposure.

A life where he is misunderstood by many, if not all who surround him,

For his English comes out in contorted shards.

And most criminally of all,

The attribute of his life that damns him so:

A life where his sanity was slowly,

Effortlessly,

Stripped away from him.

The man called Nepal is a victim.

Plagued by a cornucopia,

Yes, a cornucopia,

Of mental diseases.

Diseases that stole his daily functionability.

Diseases that stole his intellectual ability.

Diseases that stole his mind’s relationship with peace.

A relationship that is to never be restored.

For sometimes,

Even though this man has committed no sin deserving,

And though it aches many,

There is no cure for the infinitely damned.

Yet with all of this said,

This is no tale to bring tears.

And I do not apologize to those who could not stomach up to this point

For patience is a virtue,

Evidently not divided equally.

There aren’t too many virtues that are.

Nonetheless,

That man called Nepal,

He believes,

No.

He preaches,

No, no.

Not only does he preach,

But he also practices

Such a virtue.

Each day,

I watched him walk around with an air,

A presence,

That can only be described to be akin to a child,

With a smile brighter than those of adults,

Who do suffer,

But not nearly to the extent of this man.

So one day, from a place of raw curiosity,

I asked him,

“How can you walk with such joy,

With such a smile,

Yet it is well-known,

That you suffer the most in the town?”

And his answer is one,

That is tattooed in my mind,

That I will continue to recall,

In this world, and beyond.

He replied in his abstract way of speaking,

“I am a man who has little,

But who loves to give,

So I give people my smile.

Something we all have.

Something we can all give.

That is God’s Greatest Gift,

A smile.”


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