That Man In The Park

I come across this middle-aged man,

sitting on a broken bench,

at the same hour, at the exact same minute,

with a bag filled with bread and butter and veggies,

talking, talking to someone, his face kissed with a wand of happiness,

his voice, ecstatic, trying to speak whatever's there,

there, perched in his heart,

his eyes, dancing to the tunes of the responses,

maybe from his lover, his parents, or relatives,

it gave me immense joy, thinking about the moment,

that bubble of time, which we all have, that makes us satiated, 

but today,

I saw him, and as I passed by, I realized,

I realized he doesn't have a phone,

anywhere near his ears,

tis just his palm, knuckled together,

and he kept speaking on, in a language I didn't,

understand,

he just kept speaking on,

his face kissed, probably kissed with a wand of

melancholy!