Vagabond

He covers himself not with a blanket but the sky

his lips are painfully cramped and silent

but you do not hear sob or a cry

just see his frost-bitten figure

under the stars lit up by a cry

he knows not space or time.

In the eerie darkness of the deepest bottom deep

He withers while the night passes

nowhere is there a smile in his sleep

a stranger’s consolation that will never be.

Only a smooth gait of shadows

At times startled only by a smooth gait of shadows

From the darkest dreams like the curse’s gaits

harvested flower as his heart slowly veins fades

while night quietly fades as in the fog boat awaits.

And at last he will be buried,

but not as someone

and the day will come but not agleam

and he never said a word indeed

and never had a happy day

and yet he would never accede.

He shall close his eyes, like petals a flower

and, as if he was not alive, wander off

he faded in the night, cursed during the day

though his sad eyes hid many truths away.