| I
see him often on the road
with a bundle below his armpit
and a piece of bread in hand
walking with a bent head.
I
don't know if he sleeps
or even if he lives somewhere
The only thing I know
is that he is there
exposed to shine and rain
uncovered and uncaring.
I
see him often talking
with a nodding of head
to no one in particular
in words I don't decipher
like the bees going around
may be - whispers to an alien
or a plea when hungry
or a curse when hurt
I am sure I don't fathom.
I
have seen him for years
ageing like everyone
with wrinkles you can't guess
and the gait slowing-
yet ever the same
the road was his to be.
I
missed him last week
parked at a side lane
went into the teashop nearby
to find out about the guy-
Oh
that mad guy-
hit and run case it was,
he kicked the bucket last week
with no one claiming his body
the municipal lorry took it away.
A
week did pass
I kept thinking of him
everytime I pass that place
wondering eachtime if
to whom he whispered all alone
will ever miss him.
Copyright
© A.
Thiagarajan |
