The Man

Opposite the west gate (I think) of the Palace, stands a man. He is skinny, scawly and dilapidated but wears impeccably ironed and neat white-and-black national outfit of the country. He stands with the aid of the crutches. His narrow and old eyes do not waver from the gate on the opposite end of the road. He is oblivious to the rushing cars in between. His lips tremble, or perhaps, he mumbles a prayer.

Over the days, I have seen him stand on the same spot. He does not move an inch. Why is he there ? What does he do ? How does he survive? What time does he go for his lunch ? From where does he get the strength to stand without even the slightest movement or shift of the body weight ?

Lots of questions run my mind whenever I see him. I have not got any answer as yet except for the mumbles from my over-active, over-fertile brain. Perhaps, he is devoted to the powers that live within the palace. Or, maybe he is a spy in disguise to observe and look-out for any trouble maker at the palace. I do not know. But, I do wish to know. Some day, I shall find out.

Some day...