The Park Bench

The Sun had started to sink,

Reaching to heights where,

Without having to Raise his head,

The Eyes Of the Old Man Could see. 

So it was time, And he ventured out,

To the park, to his bench,

Walking a few steps, Pausing,

A few more steps, and Pausing some more.

He enters the Green Domain, and

Circles along the Cobbled path,

Once, And then slowly another.

Approaching finally to his Seat.

No One Sat there except Him,

As it was understood it was His,

The unsuspecting newcomers would be,

Shooed away by the regulars, Politely.

And When the temple bells sounded nearby,

He Would feed the little birds that arrived.

He Conversed with them, and the flowers around,

As none other would listen, nor could hear.

From this perch of his, he viewed

People, from his point of view :-

-- Kids screeching, that pierced his ears,

-- He Recollected If he too had been so noisy.

~~ Young couples embracing and staring into each,

~~ He Searched Within, to Remember, to Feel, how it felt.

++ And Looking at those just like as he, He wondered

++ Whom He Wished to be and, Who all Wished to be him.

His Time Came eventually, He left,

Never Again did the park see the old man,

Though He Soon Became a Fleeting Memory,

There Was Always his Empty Park bench,

And When The Temple Bells Tolled nearby,

There arrived always His little birds,

And His Flowers drooped solemnly in the breeze,

Missing The Talks Of their Old Man.