An Outlaw Poet | Flash Fiction | Sushant Thapa

“An Outlaw Poet” was written in front of Mr. Karki’s house. This was the sign on the entrance gate of the house. The hedges separated the house from the road. An old yellow light was shining in the evening. The house gate might have been golden in colour, but it looked yellow with age. Binod was cycling when the day was beginning to close its chapter. The highway ran down to the gate of Mr. Karki- The outlaw poet.

Beginning to arrange his papers, the poet spread loose words—a first step into the outlaw journey was to recollect the lost heart. “Magnificent” was the word that he wrote, just to cover up the old wound. The poet could not move from the fact that his old crush had only asked him where he was, but she had no intentions to love him back. They were in a different city now for years.

“Poet with a lost heart does not skip a beat.” He tried to console himself.

The poet moved on in his life and he had nearly forgotten about the woman that he loved. It was one-sided although the time he spent with her in the college was one of the best experiences to him. They were together in a college internship. Imagination being a tool of the poets for ages could not materialize the love. A lonely imagination had triggered a rebellious romantic poet. Beauty flowed from a hurt heart, the heart which bore the figment of imagination.

Why do you have to be a romantic talking about birds, colours, butterflies and skies when you own a forgotten heart?

What flowed like stream and was beauty for the world, was a statue of realization that could crack any moment.

A wooden heart is another thing born out of carpentry in an outlaw poetic garage. The carpentry takes place in a garage, jangling with sharp iron tools. The tools are alone although, they fit somehow to change the shapes of the wood. Likewise, words tone a poet, they are alive and so is a poet. The alphabets are the tools; mind is a cutting machine—sharp and breaking the useless memories into pieces.

Mr. Karki had reached his point in writing poems where he felt satisfied. Whatever happened with that woman did not disturb him. She had reached him on social media, and they acted like friends. Mr. Karki however had no intentions to go after the woman. He was happy with his life.

That evening Binod never knew why it was written in front of Mr. Karki’s home—An Outlaw Poet.

The rain making music- cracks on the ceiling, taste of thunder and the sound of the typewriter were so evident. The definition of being an outlaw had to be scripted. Poetry did not use polished sentences like prose and that was what Mr. Karki loved. The house which he lived in was an old generational house. It came with little tax to the government and huge compound. It felt like living in a suburb, with all the comfort.  It was all about laying back and living in the world. Mr. Karki was well connected with writing peers and that was enough for him. Somehow the suburb like feeling called for distraction from stardom.

Mr. Karki’s poetry was well received in the international community as his publication rate was high. Maybe he would be discovered by society soon. Mr. Karki published through self-publication but all of his poems were accepted by quality literary magazines that cared about the forbidden path of poetry. Mr. Karki did not want to wait for independent publishing houses, he did not bother writing a synopsis to the independent publishing houses, but Mr. Karki believed in quality works and that is why most of his poems were accepted by literary magazines. Mr. Karki was learning to edit and wait, he thought to approach traditional or independent publishing houses. He read about the story writers that one should sustain 100 rejections in a year. Maybe that is what being an outlaw meant among all the illegal definitions that have chances to appear and get defined by others.

Flash Fiction written by Sushant Thapa

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