A Silent Prayer

The room in the rear A dirty bed There he lies Uncared for, unattended. The chair he used to sit on Lies abandoned With broken arms and legs. The setting sun Covered his body In a hurry With a brand new cloth. Hard to understand That he is alive. A smile dried up on his lips Skewed face, arched limbs... His soul hides In the cage of bones. In the fag end of his life Time has rendered him Ugly, abjectly miserable. His sons and relatives nearby Whispered That he lost his memory That he may not be able To call anybody by name That he may not open his eyes anymore. Impatience ruled: Many left A few came afresh They Walked, sat, lay, yawned. A movement A groan, They prayed, It should be the last. He would have done the same Had he discerned his state. No! He is still there Lying on his dirty bed As a silent prayer!