Poem: Nowhere Man
By Dr. Archan Mehta
Nobody knew his name.
He was the invisible man.
Nobody was curious about his game.
He never shot to fameÂ
And lived alone.
He was often stoned
And, sometimes, dead drunk
And he cried in the
Middle of the night.
There was nobody
To wipe away his tears
Or offer to buy him a
Bottle of beer in the local bar.
He often left his door ajar,
Longing for company.
In his last days,
He often spoke of home
And, when he died,
He was deposited, like
Money in a bank, in
An unmarked grave:
Nobody attended his funeral.
Nobody spoke about him
Or even remembered him:
He turned into a
Statistic—faceless and nameless:
You know what?
It was almost as if
This blue-collar and
Working-class janitor
Never existed.Â
******
Dr. Archan Mehta has earned a PhD. in Management. Currently, Dr. Mehta is a Freelance Writer and Consultant based in India. Over the years, Dr. Mehta’s creative work has been featured in numerous publications in India, U.K., USA, South Africa and the Middle East. In his free time, Dr. Mehta likes to stroll in the outdoors, party with close friends, listen to music and stay on top of current events. Dr. Mehta is also fond of meditation. Please feel free to reach out to Dr. Mehta at
