The sounds of distant traffic
lure him to his secret garden
jewel-strewn in spring.
The cool cement is
marigold petals to his skin.
A respite from the lonely heat.
The fresh paint is colourful Fatua
that clings to his body.
It fits his pride.
The silence of empty flats is
Bengali to his ears.
It's his songs and stories.
He stretches on the green grass
and closes his eyes.
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