The Other Poem by prabhakar bhatlekar

Stray dogs of my lane
never bark at him any more.
Many sleepless nights, through
the window I watch him
standing in pale yellow light
of the street lamp.
A painter-writer of yesterday
a brilliant mind, now famous
as '-that mad artist'
Whenever we cross path I greet
him, without his response
-but he's always smiling.
Once he stopped
flicked his hand whispered
'I'm not him..he's gone..
I'm the other! '
and walked away.
Why I liked his paintings,
his famous prize-winning novel?
...why It's so painful?
And now in the thick of
this sleepless night
I watch him there, standing
under the street lamp, talking
to a dog who is attentively
listening to his nocturnal friend