Tuesday, May 8, 2012

The man who left without saying much

She would always notice
the sad look of his attire

Weighed with thoughts 
his eyes
although elegant 
were fixed to the bright fake flowers 
on the mantle

He was a man imbibed by a gloomy rain

Words scarcely flowed from his thin lips
a hefty cloud has to lighten its load at times

His gray hair had the semblance 
of a ruffled sparrow unable to conquer
a headstrong wind

Mature lines were drawn over his face
a tilled land parched without a monsoon

Fingers jittery with excitement
a red-tail deer watching moonrise

He was more like the stump of a beheaded

She'd total the age rings
and each time come up with diverse counts

He'd sit there 
a frail man
nonplussed for hours

Till the evening guides him to its embrace

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