The Man in Clothes so Sombre

Few are those,
Whose aura I find perturbing,
Snatching a certain peace,
And vanishing with yet another breaking wave.

One among them
Is the man next door:
More absolutely alone
Than evidently whole.

A missing puzzle,
Is all I can think of:
Perhaps of colours soothing,
Or of a frozen time-like thing.

What can be said
Of the hollow laughter
Reverberating in unseen memories;
Bringing alive still black and whites...?

His are the same feet,
That played on this very ground
Alongside those of a generation ago;
Still, voices- still yet hearty resound.

Here I am this monsoon
To see many more lively colours
Than this man confesses to have missed-
Blinded by more sombre colours of an ever pervasive life.

Aren't we all here
To discover that certain shade,
That when shared,
Only multiplies but not fades?

Climbing atop a wall, he
Surprises me with a mango in hand.
Only, I'd like to take back home
A heavier, sourer fruit.