man on the brink

Everyday I see him sitting, perched on his bit of the world.

Gazing out at the open sky, holding conversations with God.

A dazed look he carries, for all the world, as though he were in lunacy.

Someone knows his secret, why he must carry on this way.

On a rainy Madras day, he was waiting in vain.

Standing and sleeping is not a trait oft found.

The most Important Question, which one is it?

The answer to this query teased him, alluding no gain.

Falling into the crannies of his brain, wracking the system set,

searched and searched did he, through self and memories.

Never an answer good enough, nor a search satisfactory.

"Which is the most Important Question?", ask he of He.

And yet he waits for an answer, gazing at the manifold sky,

whenced perch on his rock, holding conversations with Me.