He sat in his room all day long
Amidst the scattered pages and his books
Always listening to that same old song
He cared neither about the world nor his looks.
Woke up with the first beam of the sunlight
Every single day, challenging his own might
Never had anyone, had the courage to step in there
Neither did someone ever, even thought to care
Kids of the colony were scared to death
With stories about his lost might and wealth
For those who had tried to get inside
said, “It is like going to a dark hill side”
He never came out of the room
Be there a flood or a doom
He kept talking to someone unknown
Nobody knew who that soul was
And one morning, as the sun rose
Everything happened the way it always did
Yet, something was different, something missing
Still I could not figure out a thing.
Years later, as I passed by those lanes
A sudden jolt of curiosity engulfed me
I somehow wanted to know about that old man,
Though no one really seemed to know
Looking for some solace, I strolled in the cemetery
Reading the random names, who once, lived.
In a corner, it stood distinct from all others
For it had no name engraved, nor any dried flowers.
Probably, the old man passed away alone
With no one to hold his hands as his heart gave in
No one would ever know who he used to be
No names, no story, and absolutely no legacy.
Neither was I a consanguine nor an affine
Yet drowned in melancholy and yet something divine,
I sat there silently in the grave of anonymity
Trying to fathom life and its (lost) dignity.