Every evening I find him at the bus stop
Under the semi-dark shed
In posture meditative
As if he isn’t waiting for bus
But something more serious
Like god’s second coming!

When I greet him
He bows in ponderous nod
But not a word passes between us
Breaking his impenetrable aloofness!

I find his serenity alike the evening
Softly descending to lull the day’s noise
That he in perfect meditative poise
Let envelope his whole being
And it looks he isn’t waiting for bus

But god’s second coming!