The Homeless Wanderer

he looked weary as though
all these years have not only aged him
but also strained his capacity to emote
he could once convey his sappy feelings for
his century old love that he claimed
was at an apparent first sight
and only with the rarest touch of emotion
you’d find him giving half a smirk and
a full flushed cheek
the wrinkled skin and creasing lines
on his temples would now tell a story
of period before the seeming civilisation
showing an aftermath to some catastrophe
probably surviving his own terrors and wars
only to eventually find peace within
he’d keep looking from side to side
with the shimmering eyes that were
about close to losing the only hope
as though he’s drawn enough breaths for
this lifetime and another
like his deathbed awaited him
for the last supper
the crumpled hair on his head & the face
a mix shade of burnt umber and grays
were starting to show colours of his wisdom
as it had faded into gracelessness
of his rugged being
even with the features full of dripping misery
my two and a half minute of glance
fixated on this man at the station
urged me to capture him in a poetry
for my life is but a bundle of these moments
for i feed my soul the likes of an age old drama

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