The Old Man of Merces1

The Old man of Merces His wrinkled face bearing slaps of time His eyes barren like a desert starved of rain Glittering they must be during his prime Crumbling body holding spirit in chain His trembling hands resting on knees Sinking and floating in thoughts deep Oblivious of dry leaves falling of trees Looking exhausted from lack of sleep Unloved by loved ones abandoned by friends His profile silhouetted like a ship aground Tired of beleaguered life’s twists and bends Wishing his soul ascended the chariot Heaven-bound A loveless life senseless for him Agony and heartache ceaseless for him The society appears as heartless for him A longer living meaningless for him My heart urged to stop by and greet His souring thoughts from confines of chest release The man with love and compassion treat But alas my tongue isn’t Portuguese Each day in the morning cold The snow-haired I found, resting on a boulder Wearing a coat lusterless and old With the muffler around neck hanging over shoulder After absence of few months as I return I find him no more on the boulder dozed Like boiling waters in vapor turn Seeing everything with eyes closed With spirit in bondage and soul in chain The picture of despair in a society blind The symbol of affliction, anguish and pain The venerable old man I failed to find --- 1 A small town in Sintra District in Portugal Feb.2010