STRANGER

In his last days, he had become a stranger.
Lines of age had eaten up his once handsome face.
May be it was sorrow.
Each line told a story,
One that would not settle well in the mind.
The sparkle in his bronze eyes was seldom seen,
and seldom never came.
Instead his gaze was smoky,
rather moist like he was on an infinite verge of tears.
He had become fond of looking blankly in a distance,
and did not seem happy with all.
The white smile never came,
even when he looked in the innocent face of his young.
His thick black hair was now a pale thin gray.
The bones seemed to hurt at sight.
His skin was almost transparent.
Clothes no longer fit.
He was like sand in the palm,
easily blown away by the wind.
I have known a man who was not the man I saw that day.
That man is so long gone.
Wherever he went...
it is quiet now.