He was alone, for starters
Watching the wandering clouds
Embracing the flutter of the breeze
Filling the empty spaces in his mind

People didn’t care for him, much
For all he “wanted” was to be left alone
They passed him on the street everyday
Without even a single glance towards him

For he was a nonentity, forgotten
In the line of sanity, and the torrents
Of requiems, journeys and ongoing races
To gain fulfillments, preservations and bliss

Days went by, and time flew through
Nothing changed much, all were same
But something kept growing and gnawing
At his Perception and deceptions of the world

One day he opened his sanguine eyes
To the reality, the real world within him
Gaining a third person angle on every step
He tread, towards what he called the very end

The next day wasn’t much extraordinary
To anyone passed by the lonely wanderer
For now he was only a lifeless rotting body
Silent and still, like every dead dog has been

© Pamuditha Zen Anjana 2011


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