The Walk…

He walks,
Walks on to reach that neverland,
He has no destination,
No where to go, no one to meet,
Still he walks,
Whistling a melancholy air.

Its a deceitful world,
Luck has betrayed, so has his love,
And so has his so called God,
He walks forgetting all,
For not any more,
He bears a grudge on anyone.

Its a strange world,
But never was it so full of strangers,
They were there, but now gone,
Memories bring a disturbing lump,
Or perhaps a tear,
He wipes it off as he walks.

Its a kind world once,
When he wakes up from a roadside sleep,
He finds some coins and some stones,
Thrown to him by passers by,
He sees them,
And leaves them all as he walks off.

Its a selfish world again,
No one cares to share his pain,
When a thorn makes his feet to bleed,
When a cold night makes him cough,
He walks unseen,
Drenched in the rain head to feet.

Its a busy world,
No one stops to look at the man,
Lying with flies hovering on him,
From the prison of muscle and bones,
From his walk,
He is now liberated at last.

© Arindam Dey


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