THE MAN ON THE BENCH - By Sylvia Salima

THE MAN ON THE BENCH

At the same spot he sits, A tiny bench is his usual spot,
A book on his hand, His mind at a far,
The same spot, The same time,
His heart seems desperate, His eyes glance at a particular spot,
She passes he blinks, She falls: he helps,
His lips are sealed, His pale face glows,
He walks away speechless, Then he turns:
I always wait for you.


- Written by: Sylvia Salima

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