Hundred Evenings I saw the Man Naked

An old man used to squat in a dimly lit hut.
He was eighty above, and tall and fair,
But now wizened and crooked.

Hundred evenings I saw him naked,
And counted his protruding rusted ribs,
And oft my eyes glued to his sculptured face.

Never had I seen him laugh or weep,
A stoic look he wore, and passed his dead days,
Muttering and mumbling.

A thousand tales his eyes cherished to tell,
Tales of rose and war and hunger days,
But where were the listeners?

Outside it was dark, and the smell of the wood,
The sparkling stars and the scythe moon
And the silver leafless trees spun a tale of their own.

@abusiddik 5th Sept, 2018.

Advertisements

A REQUEST

https://abusiddik.com/

My friends!

First let me owe my gratitude to all of

you for liking, following and

commenting on my posts.

I really do have a wonderful journey

along with you, and I’m often amazed to

see your brilliant posts.

But of late I have built my personal

site http//abusiddik.com/,

and me posting there.

My friends and followers I do need now

a favour from all of you.

Please visit my site, and comment if you like my posts.

Thank you very much for your association and closeness.