In Silence He Sat,
Dry Bread He Ate;
Blank Looks He had,
No, don’t call him mad.
He was once the Best in town,
Now in the city, he looks like a clown,
For he has nowhere to go
Life is down, morale is low.
Grand children stay far and away,
Between his children’s houses he had to sway.
Station’s name he cannot read,
Co-passengers help in what he needs.
Quietness has become his virtue,
Buzzing activities in the city are few;
No, he doesn’t mean the pubs, clubs and jest,
But the age-old rituals, pomp and fest.
He says “Those were the days where Life was a grace
Now are the days where TV wins the race”
The weird world he has to chew and digest,
With no option, he has to live his rest.