He spoke to me . . . . .
Those eyes rain now ,
Heavier than ever recorded ,
Enough to drench the droughted land ,
Boon for farmers ?
Every inch of his skin groans and growls ,
Louder than the loudest shriek ,
Severe than the labour pain ,
Mother is blessed or vicitim is cursed ?
Not a morsel , digests down the gutt ,
Like the apex that remains fixed to its position ,
Its , will against necessity ,
Good for statues , but human ?
Hearing him , I feel sorrow ,
Not about what I hear from him ,
But about his loneliness ,
Is talking to a wall , all is what he deserves ?
Ailing , coughing , he walks in his old age ,
Young he is , strong and firm though ,
Gloomy scar has wrapped him all around ,
Like a tattoo or never ending memory ?
Asked him , suggested him , to have faith ,
He listened , agreed , and follows even ,
Odds are in number while hopes at least ,
Killing him every second or paralyzed forever ?
Months went by , weeks are in motion ,
Months will go again , weeks will retrace back ,
Weak he ‘ll remain forever if he holds not firm to the months he has ,
To be strong or to feel defeated ?
I feel defeated , I lost to his questions ,
I never felt short of answers , but he failed me ,
I can only hope for wellness ,
Can’t say if , he get back to track or derail !