You meet them, you talk to them.
It’s like talking to a brick wall. Your voice just bounces back, except these wretched walls can actually talk.
High and important are their attire, but I unravel them with my satire.
Oh good one old man!
Old man? You little fart! You think you know so much! You think you can just conquer and build and re-produce all you want?
Life will tease you like a fly
Unclothe you and leave you out to die.
Too late! Too late! Then, say I,
And leave a wet fart … with a smile!
Mr. whatever your name is, I have heard jolly well all your old dragon mysteries and boogie-boy adventures. I think it’s finally time for you to start reading some “real” books with “real” knowledge. And just for the record, my old man was once cursed. They said he would never have offspring … Was I dropped from the sky? Or I am some devil?
Ya, ya, ya, chew on that goat marrow,
Maybe it’ll rid away your sorrows.
When the gate opens tomorrow.
And of course your gates must be all rusty! Oops!
You disgusting little rat! If I can find my glasses, I will come show you what this rusty old man can do to your virgin gates, when my foot …
Ha ha ha old man Tail still has some hate left in that rotten mouth of his. Get him another Beer! And gentlemen, this one is on me.
Old and wretched, filthy and drunk,
Drags his soul like a miserable skunk.
Shunned by love, disowned by his own,
He’s lost hope, yet he refuses to bow.
Opens the door and reaches for the light,
There’s not a soul on his weary sight.
Walks over to his old wooden chair,
Mutters a few words, then lets out some air.
He lived alone; no one knew where he came from or what he did. He would always go to the market and buy the freshest fruits, fill them up in his frowzy old basket. All the venders say he is a regular, who likes his veggies.
Family or visitors, his neighbors have never seen,
They say he lives his life like a messed up human being.
If you talk to him, he sometimes replies,
And everything you know he persuades you to deny.
He was best known for his stories of old,
With great enactment and excitement he told.
They were made up of creed, greed and pure gold,
The more you listen, the lesser you feel bold.
It was a mystery why people despised him and yet couldn’t resist the senile laughter he brought to their senile worlds. He looked healthy for his age, but people always exclaimed that he must have weary heart.
It was past midnight and the Shimmy’s Beer House was once again filtering out. The regulars were in their regular chairs and the non-regulars were aware of what was going to happen soon.
This was never planned, but it happened these nights. It was spontaneous, yet it happened. No one knew what time or what day the old man might show up to Shimmy’s for his regular glass of beer.
There he was, in his regular clothing. Nothing too fancy nothing too shaggy. His clothes fit him like his wrinkly old skin. He seemed to be in his expected attitude. Minding his own business and concentrating on eating his food. Rarely, he would turn around to see what has happened around him or to see something that he thinks is utterly stupid or outrageous! It was understood that one shouldn’t take offense to the words of the old man or take them seriously. He was to laugh at and to criticize. He got another beer, he didn’t even have to ask, it was right there.
He had been waited by the same waiter ever since he moved into town. He had never had any conversations with the waiter other than about something on the menu or ordering food. The waiter didn’t complain and said that “he leaves you a good tip, I remember during the recession he would leave the same amount. He used to complain the first couple of times, but after a while, I think the crew figured out how he likes his food. So now, he simply nods his head after he tastes it and you know you’re good to go”.
In came a figure, in his eyes he showed no fear.
His pride filled the room, while his stature took up space.
He looked around condescendingly, and made his way to the table.
Hey old man! How are you?
He grins, but doesn’t bother to look up, and says “what do you want? You fancy pantsie? If you don’t move, you will get your ass kicked!”
Tail Grinch! I can’t believe you turned out to be the real Grinch!
You look well. Waiter, get me two beers and this tab is on me.
There he was that fateful day,
Made of useless knowledge, covered up with clay.
Life he thought was a thing he could play,
But there he was acting like a chick with a brain delay.
Was he startled? No! He seemed to be back in his zone.
As the stranger adjusted his chair and thought of a tone.
For he knew the old man from old, till the day he was gone.
Adjusting his voice, adjusting his stature, as the old man’s eyes shone.
“To let go is to free your hands,
Let it go, remember the falling dance?”
Those were the words that echoed inside the old man’s head. Who said them and why, is a mystery. One thing was clear, the old man was not going to confront his peer.
I Spoke to your folks yesterday. They say you’re still unbearable. They don’t seem to be very fond of you, Tale. Tale doesn’t stop his rhythmic chewing; he just keeps chewing as if nothing was said.
How do you survive on your own? You have no one to take care of you. Your stubbornness still seems to be driving you. Pride and arrogance, my friend, shouldn’t be your companions!
Ya, keep ignoring!
The more you ignore others, the more they ignore you.
You are nothing!
Look at you!
You are still wearing your same rugged old clothes and your wretched attitude.
You think you’re loved in this place?
You think all these people listen to your groans and stupid stories because they secretly love you?
They don’t give a flip about you!
In fact, they think you’re some old man with a retirement … a messed up old log!
Who has nothing! Who means nothing! Is that what you want?
Tale!
would you say something?
Look, I don’t know why you refuse to even acknowledge my presence, but just so you know, I quit man!
I quit this damn life! I have no one.
No one to talk to, and no one to care for.
Tale?
This day is new, but the sun is old,
Let’s go dig for unknown gold …
You remember we used to sing that song when we started our quests?
Life seemed worthwhile back then. I am going to find that spark again man. Yes!
I will!
Are you with me?
Talk to me!
He was still there. His mouth still kept the same rhythm,
Not a beat did he miss, not a smile on his face.
He was alone again and kept looking straight ahead,
In his own world, in his own misery, words are what made him a mystery.
Nice seeing you Tale!
Take care! If you change your mind, come to my place and dine!
Picks up his jacket, tips the waiter,
No one knew that they wouldn’t see him later.
He has not always been mean and bitter,
Now, he’s just an old rag, awaiting none, but litter.
Lost everything he ever wanted,
Trying to gain what he lacked.
He threw away his life he had stacked.
Hands on the wheel, his death was now packed.
No one knew where he went. There was no way to track him. His house was burnt down and was found by a wild hound. The passers by picked up the left-over gold in pounds.
It’s the bitter old man’s house, where he lived like a dead mouse.
Now it is ashes falling on the audiences’ eye lashes.
The news said that he burnt his house down, in remorse.
A thief! They said. He was living in the out skirts of popularity, deserving no charity other than the death penalty.
His parting was a mystery and it was said that he was nothing but a misery. But the contents he left behind showed signs of wealth and prosperity.
It looked like a pile of dirt, except for the melted gold,
Which was only available for the fit and the not so old.
There were many who made their way to look at the burnt old house. The one’s who got their first, said the gold was pure and true.
One thing was certain that eventful day, where many a man got new clothes from the old man’s gold.
Smiles were on people’s faces and no one bothered to write a thank you note.
On a boat, sailing with nothing on, except an old coat.
There he sat smiling and singing as he got away from the coast.
Years went by, till one day a boy found a leg, it was roast!
He picked it up, since he knew that it’d give him something to boast.
The boy took the leg, it was stinky and foul. He took a picture of it. His mom thought he was nuts, his dad … Well he’d like to know if there was another one. He said he will give it a burial.
These words were written boldly on the old man’s leg, and he memorized them with all his might:
“There’s a fat guy you’ll never see,
The world you see is His make believe.
He laughs and farts as often as you breath,
Since Life is something that he writes on a sheet.
If you ask him what are we to do with life?
He’ll give you a list, to do till you die.
He’ll label some to be nice and some to be vile,
And say: Life is a joke! It’s your turn to make me smile!”
Ever wan·der 