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Jovial
was his mood

tarnished
was his hood

yet he smiled

like a gentleman
from the 70s

classic
but raw

a tiger paw
around his neck

not jewellery

a warning

or maybe
a memory

Chakrypt

that was his name

a name
he couldn’t encrypt

which was strange

because he had spent
his whole life
trying to decode
everything

mother
helpless

father
drunk

brother

gangs
money
drugs
under the trunk

punk
fortune
junk

the whole family tree
growing sideways

and society?

everyone
had their own law

anarchy
wearing a tie

authority
without a uniform

people came to him
with bricks

here
take this

become this

carry this

break this

build this

and somehow

they expected
a human being

to become
a wall

Chakrypt refused

not loudly

he simply

opened a book

then another

then another

until the words
began entering him

like rain
through a broken roof

he prayed

then questioned
the prayer

he meditated

then questioned
the silence

he joined the monks

but did not become one

not yet

because underneath
the robe

there was still

the hood

underneath
the silence

there was still

the street

and underneath
the tiger paw

there was a boy

perhaps
still waiting

to be decoded

One evening

an old monk asked

why do you still wear it?

Chakrypt touched
the tiger paw

because

he said

I used to wear it
to make people afraid

now

I wear it

to remember

what fear
made me

Silence

not enlightenment

not forgiveness

just silence

and somewhere
inside that silence

a man
opened himself

like a book

without knowing
which page
he was on

or whether

he was the reader

or the story

or the hand

turning
the page