Nikhil Parekh

Freshman - 508 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.


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Poem Submitted: Monday, August 18, 2014



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