A Poem by:

A. Thiagarajan

Colourful Bar

Copyright shall at all times remain vested in the Author. No part of the work shall be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the Author's express written consent.

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.


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