I saw him conversing with time. A past was perhaps haunting him. May be the future was trying to interrupt the past. He did not seem to have anything to say to either of them. His solitude, instead, spoke to them on his behalf.
When I asked him if I could take his picture, he smiled. At least he tried to.
Perhaps he was only resting there after a hard day. Perhaps he was there everyday. Perhaps, he too, was a traveler.
The birds were flying back home. Temple doors were opened for the evening prayers. School children were riding their bicycles, exchanging stories about their favourite sports. The lamps were lit. Bells chimed. And soon, all was quiet when once again, his solitude resumed their conversation.
An echo of a smile, is all that I have of him…