Of a Man lost in his neighborhood
Of a Man lost in his neighborhood
In the life of every man, there comes a time
When standing all alone, neither he rocks nor he rhymes
When the time that he finds has all been left behind,
As a helpless bull, he runs errands in search of his stolen smile.
This man I once knew – had a similar story to tell:
An elite he was – as around the "petty" commoners, he guarded himself behind a rude silky veil,
But loneliness taught him that he was just himself wrapped under a thin fragile flesh -
For all the satires that he once jokingly meant towards the "lesser-mortal" beings,
Had suddenly come back to haunt him every now and then.
Nine-Ten months of ego, as a human as he once bore,
Taming creatures, since he gained his senses – fresh out of his mother's womb,
He knew not from where his karmic destiny could strike,
And that after every bright daylight, comes again a pitch-dark midnight.
Drenched in his woes, he frantically searched for his Moon – to helm this dark night.
Even the mirror that once framed his handsome youth now abused the creases across his frown
And the Sharpe's café at corner-street 9, stared down the hole in his torn trouser pocket.
And those wine glasses, ahh – they mocked his dried parched lips thirsty for a drop of water.
On one such ignominious day, while on my way to this café, I bumped across this poor man
And helped him regain a belief in his intellect and the visible unbounded strength in his physique.
"With such resources", I asked him – "what limits you from strolling the dark night – but you yourself?"
And then suddenly, I felt a pat on my back from a friend passing by, and he smirked at me and asked -
"Why are you talking to a mirror under a hot day sun?"