Nocturnal Preacher Poem by Prabhakar Subramaniam

Like someone dressed for the church

He stands on street corners

At bus stops, even before temples

With his right hand raised

Calling upon people to repent

Before the second coming

He warns is imminent

The words rise and fall

Like a seasoned preacher's

Only the incoherence gives him away

Even at night I see him sometimes

In his characteristic pose

Standing under the saffron lamps

With no one around,

Not even the odd tippler

Slowly snaking his way home,

Speaking of his terrible vision

In his garbled style,

With no one to hear him

Ignored even by the street dogs

Who sleep through his call of distress