The Visitor

A suicide is lingering inside my brain
With vacant eyes and sluggish demeanor

Due to the boredom of a long waiting 

Impatient yet tolerant

He walks, sits and leans against the wall

And huddles with the passers-by thoughts

And asks where they come from

It seems he is inquiring about someone

Appalled by the sight of the invoked spirit 

The thoughts assembled here and there

And everyone wants to know who he is waiting for

Some are mute as they know something

And the visitor summons some who have  distressed looks

And they seem to be confessing something

And he nods relaxedly 

For, now he knows where to go