The Insignificance

The sapped hovel gulped the first drops of rain.
Welcoming the wrinkled feet, perennial moss grew,
knowing that clouds shall pour again and again
to give old man another pain, like he had few.

The walls belonged more to the monsoon than him.
Arrogant wet blotches resurface to stake their claim
on walls, windows, doors, ceiling and memories within.
Only to disappear in winter, but not leaving everything the same.

More souls had survived, if not lived under this roof
than could be seen on the funeral of this insignificant
man, whose distant glance and sullen brow is enough proof
that lord made it hard to be a human being, all the more for the forgotten few.

Water swelled again, with a condescending look on the world.
Perched on the lattice, he perused the memory pages for a pleasant one.
But, his life was a dossier that the quill denied a compassionate word.
Kind waters however reassured that in this limbo, he’s not the only one.

In face of emptiness, surrender is no more a sin.
In anticipation of heaven, his eyes grew blurry
And like the hovel, his lungs gulped the water in,
To let the bubbles rise, the last witnesses to his uneventful story.