Nikhil Parekh

Gold Star - 5,977 Points (27/08/1977 / Dehradun, India)

The Man In The Photograph - Poem by Nikhil Parekh

The man in the photograph didn't withdraw air from surrounding,
While I breathed several times a single minute.

The man in the photograph didn't laugh at a hilarious joke,
While I burst into volleys of laughter at mention of the slightest satire.

The man in the photograph didn't feel at all thirsty,
While I couldn't suffice without water for more than an hour.

The man in the photograph wore an impeccable white shirt; devoid of creases,
While the garments that fitted my body were with blotches of stain and grease.

The man in the photograph didn't budge a fraction of an inch,
While I tossed and turned with growing spurts of overwhelming restlessness.

The man in the photograph was clad in threadbare clothes even in chilly winter,
While I draped my persona with furry covers of pure sheepskin wool.

The man in the photograph never developed shabby stubble of beard,
While I shaved my skin scrupulously twice in a single day.

The man in the photograph didn't sweat drops of pungent perspiration,
While I shed water from my armpits every unfolding second in the sun.

The man in the photograph didn't sit for years on the trot,
While I needed to rest occasionally on the ergonomically sculptured leather pouch.

The man in the photograph didn't expurgate his bowels,
While I made frequent journeys to the bathroom after devouring plum juice
and water.

The man in the photograph didn't cough when tickled by pigeon feather,
While I erupted into an earth shattering sneeze when struck by cold.

The man in the photograph was holistically phlegmatic,
While I was full of volatile energy; ready to plunge into the sea of adventure.

The man in the photograph had black hair since times immemorial.
While I had acquired grizzly streaks of white with the onset of age.

The man in the photograph didn't struggle to earn money,
While I worked at frantic pace to make my livelihood.

As a matter of fact; the man in the photograph had died decades ago,
And I was still living; all set to change the complexion of this earth.

Topic(s) of this poem: nice, photograph


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, March 10, 2016



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