THE OLD MAN

The old man used to
come from somewhere.
No one knew from where
he came from.
Every evening brought him
to the street side.
He was lean and frail
with disheveled silvery hair.
He glanced at everyone with
his twilight eyes
it looked like he was always
serious
never serious he was
his looks were blank
hence he failed to return
the smiles cast at him
by the evening walkers.
No one had seen him talking
to anyone
none had witnessed anyone
approaching him
every evening he was rooted
at the exact spot
like a milestone or
a lankymark.
With the dusk descending
he used to vanish somewhere.
To my surprise and embarrassment
one day he came not
I asked myself why?
None seemed to bother about
his absence
but the silent connection I felt
towards him set me thinking
about his where abouts.
Everyday on passing through
the street,
I expect him
days and weeks have elapsed
his signs are not seen.
Still I hope
one day he will surface
again,
and I await that day.