He lay there unmoving; as still as the falling leaves Around him drifting onto his weathered cheek. The ground was hard, his legs were thin His body wrapped in a dhoti that was clean.
How long had he starved, were his lips parched A young man bent over him, said something The old man didn't reply. Was his village far away? Where were his children and why Had he come here perhaps just to die?
Had he just decided to walk away? Was his land parched, his crops rotten His debts unpaid, his loans looming larger than life Who could even presume to say?
He had laid his head down on a pillow of dust He had lain down on a dusty pavement in an unknown town Were there tears in his eyes, did he think of his wife Who can even presume to say? The next day the old man had vanished clean away His place had been taken by a performing clown.
