An Old Man
walks His Way.
A well trained telecom person,
The octogenarian , used to this
Market path, home to
town shop,
Walking stick his
unfailing companion,
Pinion , under whose tutelage
He avoids many
unwholesome traps,
His usual way, his
much familiar
accustomed Road, he knows
as if to locate in a geographical map
as well as in his mind,
each and every stentorian
voice,
mothers chiding their
wards, he identifies..
HE curses the loud speaker
Piercing his already
deaf ears.
One hand to serve
as a sun shade,
to have a
clear view,
The roadside flower
sellers
Know this veteran ,by the tap,
A regular kiss
on the road,
Long shadow in the return path,
He falls in love with,
Blesses his spring of
Life on this Earth.
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