They say people die at different ages
Some of their raw skin buried under a carcass
And some huddling down the streets with a physique
“A walking tomb!”, they say
“Death in his age!?”, they say
His eyes glued to the ground
Reverie of thoughts glittering beneath his eyes
The lost hopes, shattered dreams and an empty life
But he doesn’t strive for a cure
His head covered with mist
He is a lonely soul wandering in a colourful street
“Scatterbrained”, may be what you call him
But will you look at him through his eyes?
Will you feel him the same way he feels?
Judgments do not bother him anymore
Expectations never cease to least
Knowingly, he isn’t good enough,
He trudges down the streets acquit

Co- editor: Rtr. Ravindy Siriwardane