Annabelle: Hercules didn't have stitched clothes.
Darwin: Men had no clothes.
Annabelle: They thought so. I had stitched them the colours.
Darwin : They wore none.
Annabelle: They still don't. They just wear colours.
Darwin: They?
Annabelle: Men
Darwin: Women?
Annabelle: How does it matter, even if they wear colured collarless fabrics!
Men will see them as they want them to...
Darwin: Men in colours?
Annabelle: Yes, men in colours and women in coloured collarless fabrics.
Digital Impression © Niloy Roy

আমার পেটে একটা পশু আছে || ১০ আগস্ট, ২০২৪
~ নিলয় রায়

আমার পেটে
একটা পশু আছে,
হিংস্র নয় সে,
আদরের ছোট্ট
একটি দু পেয়ে জীব;
শুধু যখন পেট থেকে
বুকের ওপরে উঠে আসে,
অথবা নিচে দুই পায়ের মাঝে,
তখন...
না,
তখনো সে হিংস্র নয়।
তখন সে শুধু খেলে,
শরীর শরীর খেলা।
সামাজিক মাঠের গ্যালারি
ভরে যায় করতালিতে,
সংবাদ মাধ্যমে বিতর্কের আলো,
গণবিক্ষোভে ব্যানার কালো।
দৌড়, দৌড়।
তখন...
না,
তখনো সে মানুষ নয়।
তারপর
নামে বৃষ্টি।
ঝড় থেমে যায়।
সেই পশুটা আবার সেঁধিয়ে যায়,
আমার পেটের মধ্যে।
ভোরবেলার কালো সুর্য
নেমে আসে,
এক দলা মাংসের নগ্নতায়।
না,
তখনো সে হিংস্র নয়।
আমার পেটে
একটা পশু আছে।
আস্তে আস্তে সেই পশুটা
আবার খেলতে বেড়োবে,
মাঠে, ঘাটে, হাসপাতালে,
বাজারে, রাস্তায়,
আর আমি তখন তুমি, তুমি আমি,
পশুজন্মে উল্লাসিত।
A digital impression by Niloy Roy, dated 30 September, 2020. Unfortunately with an annihilated society around, I can't deny that it is so much relevant even today, after yesterday's barbarous happening at R G Kar hospital.

In a world of abstract realism, where we think of living, Your identity is your ultimate truth. Your image is merely a projection. Society constructs your image, whereas your identity is your reality.
Identity versus Image is the central conflict around which the play, *Mirror Mirror on the Wall*, revolves.
This play is not just about the actors performing on stage; the audience, too, must perform throughout the show, as they cannot simply sit back and watch it casually. They are required to view the entire play through a mirror.

What's In My Mind? / The Lantern Within
~ Niloy Roy

What's In my mind
Is the anguished lantern,
Which is the passage to darkness.
As I cross the light
Within my mind,
I see a normal world,
Where people are walking,
Talking and laughing away their sorrows.
The lantern in my mind
Flickers through the strange wind
Which blows away the rituals,
And a catheter down there
Ties my nights to sleeping bag,
Whereas, the iron doors of
The mocking trains
Whistle past the ripe wheat fields.
Tunnels and the veins
Rush through the light
Till the heat burns all nightmares.
While I go back to my world,
On my uncomfortable pillow,
Where my head will rest,
Taking the mind within, with
Subconscious truth of yesterday.

It has been one year since we had worked on this performance. Thereafter, I have been miserably denied the incremental thoughts to experiment or create anything which can drill my conscience, except maybe, Mirror Mirror on The Wall.
Both the actors and directors need to collaborate at a level of understanding the mythical existence of intellectual exuberance, which brings out the art of performance.
Either I am not finding the equitable actors or I am too preposterous as a practitioner to churn out the inner angst.
It's not about success or failure anymore. It never was.
It's about that particular word, 'angst'.