Of a Man lost in his neighborhood

In the life of every man, there comes a time

When standing all alone, neither he rocks nor he rhymes

When the time that he finds has all been left behind,

As a helpless bull, he runs errands in search of his stolen smile.

This man I once knew – had a similar story to tell:

An elite he was – as around the "petty" commoners, he guarded himself behind a rude silky veil,

But loneliness taught him that he was just himself wrapped under a thin fragile flesh -

For all the satires that he once jokingly meant towards the "lesser-mortal" beings,

Had suddenly come back to haunt him every now and then.

Nine-Ten months of ego, as a human as he once bore,

Taming creatures, since he gained his senses – fresh out of his mother's womb,

He knew not from where his karmic destiny could strike,

And that after every bright daylight, comes again a pitch-dark midnight.

Drenched in his woes, he frantically searched for his Moon – to helm this dark night.

Even the mirror that once framed his handsome youth now abused the creases across his frown

And the Sharpe's café at corner-street 9, stared down the hole in his torn trouser pocket.

And those wine glasses, ahh – they mocked his dried parched lips thirsty for a drop of water.

On one such ignominious day, while on my way to this café, I bumped across this poor man

And helped him regain a belief in his intellect and the visible unbounded strength in his physique.

"With such resources", I asked him – "what limits you from strolling the dark night – but you yourself?"

And then suddenly, I felt a pat on my back from a friend passing by, and he smirked at me and asked -

"Why are you talking to a mirror under a hot day sun?"