Sadly, he has no place to go!
But all the time to get there;
Perhaps, his fate. For a long time
He’s been a rootless wanderer!
No links to keep him grounded,
Lonely, alone; here and anywhere!
A few possessions to his name
And friends, he has fewer still…
Family he has; he’s forgotten where;
No means to see them, nor the will…
And so his name remains unspoken
Never written with pen or quill…
A forgotten man living in shadows
Under bridges or under the stars
With plastic bags for pillows…
An old coat reeking of smoked cigars,
To keep him warm on wintry nights;
And a bottle of gin from nearby bars…
I see him in many street corners,
Or perhaps someone just like him;
Washing windshields for a pittance,
In early morning; while it’s still dim
As he flashes a mirthless grin
At strangers’ faces; looking grim!
Often I wondered what lurks behind
Those sad eyes; the rhyme and reason
That shaped his melancholy life…
Was it luck? Or a life freely chosen?
For when I look into his doleful eyes
Many a time, I see my own reflection…
Were it but for the grace of God,
A roof exists, always o’er my head
Food on the table, clothes on my back…
But in my life, happiness has fled
Emotionally homeless; virtually alone
And all that I feel, often left unsaid!
© Vic A Evora