The Man At The Porch

Picture Courtesy: Google.com

I saw him at the porch long ago,

He was in his early twenties,

Sitting in the couch, crossing his legs one above another,

Folding his hands to warm himself,

Eyes full tears, and face full of sadness.

Whenever I walked by his house,

I can saw him at the same place where he was before,

Everyday same thing and person,

His eyes were not even blinking,

Always staring at a particular direction,

And all the time his eyes were full of tears,

Not even dare to wipe his tears.

I used to think what was wrong with him?

Because he looks very energetic and delicacy,

But his life was full of melancholic and tedious,

Always enveloped with profuse darkness,

And surrounded with an aura of enigmatic, everywhere,

No happiness, no contentment,

Always his life enveloped with dispirit and disconsolate.

I was fifteen years, when I last saw him at the porch,

And now, I am fifty five years old.

Yet, still he is there at the porch at the same place, and couch,

Nothing has changed, always doing as usual,

But the age and appearance have been with far-away on the horizon.

Face is full of wrinkles, and sunken eyes,

And looks very grief-wrecked man,

Black, well arranged bun of hairs,

Turned into gray, and looks like not been buns for a decade,

Left him with loose folds of skin all over the body,

Face with wrinkled and gaunt features of man decades his senior.

He is a man of his own desire,

Making desires out of dreams,

And who has faith in love and has been loved,

But the heart gave just a leap,

And he lost all the meaning of his life.

In his early twenties, he was leading his journey of life,

And passed his childhood and teenager,

Entered in his adolescent and to the atmosphere of the college.

He was fully blossom bud into flower with the nectar and the petal,

He entered into his life episode of the romance,

There he encountered with his queen,

And without fearing, he gave everything to his love:

His life, his heart, his love and his soul,

But in return he received the corpse of living.

Days turn into night of darkness,

Dark days are upon him,

He has lost the ability to intellectual,

Secluded his life, and leading the life of lonesome,

His heart has incision deeply with the poison words of his love,

All his parents and friends have with out of affections,

No family, no love, no acquaintances,

Always! Alone in the couch, couch is the only companion.

But in the heart and spirit of this old soul,

A young ebullient boy still dwells,

With the unfulfilled desire,

The unachieved quest,

And the unquenched thirst of love,

It is the bequest of love to him to lead agony life.

Of no mind, of no intellectual,

Always melancholy and wistful art of living,

And waiting his last breathes to exhale.

The End!

-Prem B. Limbu