An Old Man on a Wooden Bridge

An old man sat on an old wooden bridge amid the forest deep

Beneath ran a hidden mossy creek, and beyond,

The trees were lovely, dark and green, and the grassy path lay virgin.


Fish scuttled and dived head high, and the cool black water swirled.

The old man with shaking hands and legs trembled

Sat there for hours, and admired the awful scene.


Twilight and the tinged cloudlets

Sailed across the sea blue sky,

And a flock of white herons gleamed, and lazily went by.


He looked each side, and he was gay,

The trees were tall and dark, the leaves resplendent

The moon was not up yet, nor the owls screeched.


Scented air he breathed and his eyes poor surveyed

The bushy banks and thickets thick and ferns furled,

The climbers twirled the tall trees, and unendingly the forest whirred.


No neighbours,  no friends,

No children, all abroad and settled well.

He took a deep breath, and moaned.


Every evening, thus, he came, and sat on the old wooden bridge,

Heard the birds carol and the creek’s dying reel,

And wistfully surveyed the awful scene.

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Abu Siddik

Abu Siddik

It's all about the unsung , nameless men and women around us. I try to portray them through my tales. I praise their undying suffering and immaculate beauty. And their resilience to life's vicissitudes, oddities, and crudities I admire. They are my soulmates who inspire me to look beyond the visible, the known, the common facade of the educated and the intellectuals.

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  1. I want to learn Mr. Sinha’s class, but he is no more …..really I know that He is a great teacher….And he is always alive in our mind

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Top Comments

Subhash Chandra
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"A gifted writer"

A gifted versetile writer who writes excellent stories and poems on the invisibles, pariahs, margins, aged, weaklings of our society. A rising star on the literary firmament.
Santosh Bakaya
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Praise for my writing

“Your story Undersell left me with a lump in my throat, so did your poem, He also lights candles.”
Louis Kasatkin
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Praise for my poem "Elderly Men Two"

"A finely honed observational piece recording the minutiae of everyday life. Rendered with the author’s customary poetic aplomb suffused with a Borges like quality of the mythic."

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