Loner.........

This poem is about a person who made Edison train station in New Jersey  his home in the past. An year ago, when i used to commute to New York from Edison on NJTransit, i used to see this person in a small waiting room that accommodated four benches. He used to sit on one of the benches and hence no one else bothered to sit on the same bench each day because of his odor and bad attire. Although pitiful looking, he did not care  about who was coming and who was going nor did he begged for money. All he used to do is to stare into vacuum and sometimes gave a huge grin. But he managed to get food somehow each day ( I am sure not by begging). He was just a loner in the huge crowd that commuted to and fro NYC everyday. But one day, all of a sudden he disappeared and never returned to the station again. I wonder what had happened to him and felt bad for not helping him out(at least giving him some food).We were and still are that busy chasing our lives, pity us!!.

This poem is in remembrance of him  injected with my imagination about his state of mind.


Why do you focus into emptiness each day ?
Is this a display of temerity or timidity ?
Have you reached a terminal boredom in life?
Since when have you lapsed into stupefied silence?
How could you let your life to be nightmarish?
Thinking that fate has bestowed this upon you
or waiting for someone to lift your spirits?

You are not wasted, you are not arty,
you are not pretentious,
yet no one care to acknowledge your sorrows.
I see, this station harboring busy crowds each day
has lent a deaf ear to your corrugated past.
No one, no one but you can bring yourself out
of whatever that is happening within you

Do not expect pity from the moving crowd
They gasp at the absurdity of your life's content (how do they know?)
but never lure themselves to offer some help.
All i can see is their disgust for your stinking odor
Your maligned clothes make a miss in
the vapors of early hour pressures .
Late evenings also carry list of social commitments
but no one's list has your name for a rendezvous.
Your death does not create avalanche of muck raking
except for a small line in the local newspapers.


So Mr. Unknown,

Uncertainty is the charm of the life
Do not waste your life in the boredom of solitude.
Do not limit your existence,
between the train tracks and parking lots.
Trigger yourself to a working mode,
look at galore oppurtunities life throws at you
pick one and pack the past beyond today.
Ascend from the bottom of the pit
and catch a train that could lead you to your destination.