He lies there sleeping peacefully on the podium, commuter stations, sidewalks…In his filthy grayish rags he is usually found lying comfortably on his back. Resting his head over a rectangular carry bag, he closes his eyes and deafens his ears to the deafening noise around him. Sometimes he makes his living picking up the trash of the civilized and selling them over for few bucks. Otherwise, he’s found roaming around wittingly as if he were mocking the citizens who are busy ever running behind something. Not bothering much, he reluctantly watches those thousands who pass by him. Thousands! who have no minute to stand by or give him soothing word or a reassuring smile. Reaching the heights of wanting companionship, the poor homeless starts making friends with his inner self- talking, laughing and expressing state of affairs to the beings of his virtually invisible world. Living blissfully in his beautiful mind. Schizophrenia as he can be termed but at least he refuses to wear a mask. Passing everyday in his wonderland he only waits for a day to be released from his mortal body. To become one with the celestials that he was dreaming about. The helpless deprived person who is called The Vagabond!
Is there any redemption for these vagrants, at all? will they ever live in comforts of the cultured?
1 comment:
Beautiful and true. It's one guilt I've been living with a lot. We do need to reach out like Teresa. But I don't. If she did, I could do too. But I don't.
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