The Soiled Shirt
The sun beat down radiantly,
With sharpness unrestrained.
Wilted trees; parched land;
The village struggled to the core.
As she alighted her hut,
Approached a man in soiled shirt.
Frazzled hair and grisly beard;
Skin bone-dry and eyes scratched;
The world seemed to be against him,
So haggard and hopeless did he look!
He gazed left and then right,
Unsure which way his hopes lay.
Feeling pity on the poor soul,
A jar half-filled with water,
She offered the disheveled man.
His sunken eyes brightened,
While he clutched at the jar.
Smiled she as he drank to the brim.
She went inside; fetched a shirt,
As white as an angel’s wings; and,
Happily presented to the lost soul.
Tears welled down his cheeks;
Lips trembled, hands shook;
As he accepted her generosity.
He turned around, began to walk,
To a destination even now unknown.
She smiled as well as sighed;
Cheerful but confused nonetheless!
Copyright © Sreedeep Chennamangalam | Year Posted 2016
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