Anonymity

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.

---Sriram