They pour along the stretch of the streets
Like dogs let loose on a rabbit chase,
Except that these don’t have
Half the focus rabbit-chasers have.
A man here with steel-rigid gaze
Walking purposely towards my left;
A teenager there critically appraising
Every person that crosses his view.
Half an hour later I see the same man
Return with face still and grave,
A bottle of gin making his hand shake
As he staggers past the teenager;
Whose gaze is now fixed on
The lower part of a passerby lady,
His eyes swearing
They would follow her to the grave.
They are all there:
Flocking to and fro the street of life;
Samples of humanity
Trying to define and achieve purpose.
See this medical doctor
Happily take a break from consulting,
To pour out himself into words,
To make his surgeon’s fingers busy.
As a writer.
From the balcony
Of the second floor
Of his hospital.