The blue man

A blue man is walking in a park,
Passing by brown trees shedding mint leaves,
An orchard bearing blue cherries,
A pond filled with white Lillies
like polka dots on a pink dress.

With unclear steps, he moves;
Nor running or walking.
Dirt is climbing his pants.
Yet by moving through mud; goes he
Like a man with his legs bit by enormous ants
And Nails painted by professional bees.

With hands held together on his back,
Eyes kept down,
Moving at the same rate;
He is encircling the pond.
Everywhere except pond was crammed.
Crammed with people.
Like clusters of ferns; they were everywhere.
People with not so blue skin,
No unpredictable eye colour.

He was a moth in that garden
Flying amidst buds and blooms
Swirling with its frail wings
all, around the garden,
Above the hissing Aphids on the floor.


They went on ..
to ferns, flowers, leaves and roots
Leaving a pink drop in the middle.



Now, Was there he, making rounds.
Like cusk eels, he moved closer to the pink.

Something was filling up the pond.
Two blushed drops.
And it, was also taking rounds.

He fell! Plunged.


The birds on the sky didn’t see.
The ants’ march didn’t pause.
Trees weren’t stuck.
Even the lillies didn’t wake.


What colour was his eyes?
Yellow?purple ?pink?

I will never know.