Who was he?
The man on the yellow chair,
His eyes looking through that black vision of binocular pair.
Everyday he solitarily waited,
As if his last wish was to be finally mated.
Scrawny frame freezed that place,
He was a daunting figure for the other race.
I too was stumbled in this crowded maze,
Rusty groan reverted back at my intruding daze.
Waves of comments rippled across,
Town of peace was thrawted with a pause.
Who was this man?
Pondered every other man.
Pains are phantom,
But his eyes depicted a story of a harsh abandon.
His eternal spirit of hope,
Brought tears to my complaints which eventually elope.
I mustered my courage with a limp voice to deliver,
Unexpectedly I was shocked to death as he gripped my hand with a quiver.
His face shouted holocaust of tortures,
Belittle, my soul knew to resolve his old wounds in this dead corner.
"You came back to me."
Touched my disheartened soul to see, his loved ones left him to flee.
"Yes Dad I'm home".
In one instant the drought on his face reversed to a celebrating Rome.
Quenched his wait,
I lied to him as I introspected the consequences of this lies' weight.
I became a son to a man,
I barely knew.
He became a father to a man,
Who lied to him.
Was it justice to the man in the yellow chair?
~smkj
YOU ARE READING
Unresolved Love
PoesiaDirty is not always bad Get ready for rhyming slangy tones of twisty lines stuck to your mouth. This book is just a initial start of songs, music and conversations that makes you realise what things you are doing wrong or what path to be chosen. All...
