The Midnight Walker

The bold and beautiful Calcuttan streetsIn the daylight where life skips its various beatsWith the moonlight they are left silent and dark And the Midnight Walker then begins his silent walk. He wears a little lower his big black hat In it it seems is hidden a mysterious cat.A dress he wears looks like an old age frockAnd a stick in hand helps the Midnight Walker walk. Night after night he walks and walks a thousand milesThrough even rain and storm in his valiant styles.And many years after those three birds still pass in a flock Thats the time the Midnight Walker ends his silent walk. But it’s said and heard the story of Midnight Walker is all but false The witnesses of his walk though are moon and stars.And for him I guess all nights are nothing but the same For the Midnight Walker walks with a silent unsettled aim. To prove all this wrong the living world is so keen For the walk of Midnight Walker is felt but never seen. Oh! It is Midnight and I must leave this talk The Midnight Walker has to begin his Walk.’ Amidst that silence was my struggling mind squeezed in between the memories of the past and the poems of that present. I never wanted to get involved in all that again but I wanted to know him more I wanted to read the remaining of his writings but some wants just remain wanted. Soon the sirens at Howrah Station were calling and I was back to my old city…so was he.