The Last Whisper

I waded through the crowd.

“The old man is in his last stage,” whispered someone.

In a corner of a room lies an old man amidst the rags.

The lonely soul has been struggling with diseases.

My entry gave him some solace of a face known.

His speaking eyes were in a hurry.

I bent down to listen to his murmur.

With my comforting touch, he was opening slowly,

“I’m not an orphan, have a son for the family.”

He handed me over a piece of crumpled paper.

I took my phone out,

Thinking of dialing the number.

Before someone could answer

The man asked me for water.

Just after a gulp, everything was over.

The last whisper haunted me for years.

The selfishness of loved ones pricked me now and then.

Questioning the real l meaning

Of education and upbringing

Again, again and again.