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The Mad Man by the side of my car window

2 votes, average: 5.00 out of 52 votes, average: 5.00 out of 52 votes, average: 5.00 out of 52 votes, average: 5.00 out of 52 votes, average: 5.00 out of 5
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English Poetry

He sits by the wayside

The tide has washed

Away his mind

Be kind and don’t ask

What is it that he wants…

If he could just step back in time

The pantomime that plays inside his head

Is not his.

Strange dull ache is all that he feels

Because all that remain

With him are flash-cuts from

An Oliver Stone film

Which, has nothing to do

With what he felt, saw, touched or sensed

Or the life he once had,

Or did he have a life at all,

He doesn’t know.

He cringes in the dark

Like a rat that knows his end is near

But he wished he only knew

Who he was, what he was

And put aside his fear

Of dying a nameless death

On the side-walk

And get collected by the cops

With a toe-tag that only gives a count

Like the endless white screams

The mindless dreams

That he hears every night, every time

The sun begins to fade.

His little tattered blanket

Keeps him warm, dry,

And sometimes acts as a shield

From the prying world

When he begins to eat his only meal

Of half-eaten fruit thrown at the dogs

Which he grabbed for hunger’s sake.

He wishes someone would throw

His memory back to him

So that he could understand

The reason behind his pain.

Someone once said that

He carried a picture of a little girl

Faded, now dirty

Like the old t-shirt which he wears

that says Levi’s 501.

There was a time when he stared

At passing cars

Trying to match the picture to a face.

Till all that remained

Was a blur of wheels

Burnt into the depths of his mind

Where now,

The wheels have long stopped turning,

And it’s just the roar that remains…

10 Comments

  1. rajdeep says:

    Who he was, what he was

    And put aside his fear

    Of dying a nameless death
    gud rite
    regards
    rajdeep bhattacharya

  2. ULHAS says:

    Good sir, a free flowing paint brush on a white sheet of paper………..nice work of art………………

    Stars = 5

  3. Vishvnand says:

    A beautiful poem like an autobiographical third person narrative nicely flowing, meaningful & telling.
    Liked the poem very much.
    And a very hearty welcome to you at p4poetry

  4. priyal says:

    When he begins to eat his only meal
    Of half-eaten fruit thrown at the dogs
    Which he grabbed for hunger’s sake.
    He wishes someone would throw
    His memory back to him..

    The analogy so intimidating..

  5. medhini says:

    A nice poem and a good presentation.
    Keep writing.

  6. renu rakheja says:

    Welcome to P4poetry ! Look forward to reading more of your poems

  7. @priyal, ya it’s sad, scary… imagine you without memory – staring at the faces in front of you and not knowing anything!!! every mad man on the road has a history – a story – the life that he once led – which he or us will never know…

  8. @ULHAS, thank ou once again ulhas… more coming up soon

  9. @rajdeep, thank you so much rajdeep for taking the time out to read and comment 🙂

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