On the signal when traffic stops and time flies-by
I see a lady, unkempt hair but a neat saree
She nods her head and talks to ghosts
I stare, the others mock, and then we move on.
Today morning while i bought the paper
Shaggy hair, worn out pants and stench was the man behind me,
Muttering Sachin, India and Australia, and events unknown to history
Offering him tea, while others pointed, i moved on.
Barefoot marches an anonymous on the highway
With his stick he waves at speeding wheels
He picks up rubbish and roadkill, the highway's uncrowned guardian
Life seems an unending journey, as he has forgotten his destination and moves on.
All the sane men around me i observe
Some fake happiness while others cry aloud
"It's a mad man's world out there", says a pensive Bard
Watching the crazy and the homeless, I could not agree more.
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