He is the talk of the town
Spoken of with so much scorn
By his peers, he is often jeered
No praise gets he from the aged

As rigid as Peter the hermit
He cares not what others say
As simple as the Great Gandhi
Without frown, he goes about his day

He moves with his head bent down
Never in a haste, never slowing down
Always cautious to lower his face
To avoid the mad world and its gaze

Come buddy, to a party must go
Painfully, but always, he says no
Hey look at that lovely ‘hoe’.
Lo and behold, his eyes are closed

Once, they queried him and demanded
Why not nod your head to this music
Gently, he shook his head and said
My mind is a temple, I cannot abuse it

They, at times, tell him to get a life
What do you even do to unwind?
He says books are his only friend
He spends time with unend

He is the talk of the town
None, in his presence, wants to be found
Many, out of his feats, know his nom
But still they call him the strange one