The Passerby

The inimical look on his face says it all. His ragged piece of clothes, uncombed hair, a plastic on his crooking shoulders; for us we may say “What a lecherous man? ” but if you see deep inside his void eyes, you can see a ray of hope which is lit as no where else.

The envious smile makes his crippled dirty face visible as if trying to mock at himself. He sits at a tree and sings a song in his own melody whereas sometimes he has a tête-à-tête with a stray dog. Anyone on his way may say what a poor life god has given him? Not at all. He is enjoying all the bits of moments god has offered him. It may be counting the worn out coins or picking of the dirty plastics. He enjoys it all. Nor he offenses the god neither curses his fate. He enjoys his day sometimes bending his hips around the street; sometimes making himself a statue for the pigeons and monkeys.

This is a story of man, he doesn’t have a penny in his pocket but the most important thing he has respect for his life: the offer to lead it, the way to enjoy it.

 

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