By Neel Dutta Gupta
a
My days before the fight
were marked with press conferences
composed of long microphones
extravagant promotion boards
and “drippy” outfits
My conversations had much to do with
prediction based on precedent
with glimpses of technical conversation
It was trash talk for the most part,
meaningless conversations
referencing each other’s mother
explaining perceived “weaknesses” in the other fighter
But these were their own fight
They provided me an opportunity
to win this fight before it was fought
a
On the day of the fight, I walk in, beads of sweat circulating
A rush of nerves and discomfort comes upon me
juxtaposed by my beating heart
As much as my preparation
and my confidence attempt to
secure my mind
there is a sense of rawness
and vulnerability
creating a prehistoric stress
that I cannot scare away
a
From the corner of my eye,
I see a gathering of important individuals
The forefront of a hierarchical gradient
encompassing the coliseum
My walk to the ring
is filled with chaotic screams
flashes of camera phones and floodlights
Eyes illuminating with focus and urge
A modern continuation
of a traditional practice
a
In this moment,
I feel an anarchical peace
A quiet sense of confidence
An attentiveness to the duel at hand
An inevitable sense of focus
a
As I walk into the ring,
I pace
nomadically
frantically but with tranquility
anxiously with a hint of calm
It is a strange combination for me
tense but peaceful
My opponent resides across from me
a glimmer of moroseness in his eyes
Was this what it had come to?
Voluntary abuse of each other
for the world’s entertainment?
It had not come to this today
It had been like this for generations
a
The fight begins
Right jab, left jab
I move my head elusively,
but my opponent’s actions is magnetic
His feet move with such precision,
shuffling across the ring
making it difficult
to create contact
His movements are
enigmatic
elusive
violently beautiful
a
The fight is called
And our arms our raised
I look towards
my opponent
I see him as something else
Not conflict, but peace
For all the trash talk
And our physical combat
I feel something satiating,
satisfying,
unexpected:
respect.
a
Neel Dutta Gupta is a 17-year-old high school senior from Singapore. He enjoys writing poetry but is also interested in creative nonfiction and academic writing. He likes eating pasta, playing basketball and volleyball, re-watching Suits, and walking his dog. He is a recent contributor to Written by the Youth.
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