I passed a stinking pile of a man
alone in a dark underpass
hair in filth knots
hand blackened with dirt
feet swollen
the stench of shit and urine and decay all around him
but I realized that I remember this man, in better days… relatively
he wore a suit and a tie, he was even clean shaven
and he always had a clipboard (a clipboard!) in his hand
on well-to-do Istiklal
and he walked around approaching people
and asking them questions
all meaningless and insane, of course
but he would go up to people and talk to them
and they would even talk back
mostly “what? what are you saying? no”
but people would talk to him
they would look at him, briefly
and he would have a moment of human contact
not connection, of course
but some kind of contact nevertheless
and I wonder if he now thinks back on that time
when he was relatively better off
and when people talked to him
now that he’s been abandoned completely
and death can’t be far
on sad old Tarlabasi
in the complete loneliness of his mental illness
not even a hundred meters from where he used to be
in better days
with a suit and a clipboard
surrounded by people
