help me help him

He’s a digger with a pickaxe,

a shovel.

He looks handsome.

women call him a marvel.

everytime they’re around,

he loses his marbles.

He’s getting himself dirty,

trying to make a living out

of some rubble.

He gets himself drunk,

falls and stumble.

He sees me walking tired,

watches me, strolling dog-tired and wishes;

he too could fall and stumble.

I know how this life could be like–to a man

who’s unable to control his emotion upheavel.

He does things but,

cries whenever questioned.

I’ve come to think that he should maybe,

communicate with eyes like he always does.

I’ve asked people to help me help him but,

none of them seems too keen to listen.

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mate

I have been that road before,

You’ve just laid your feet on a cold tar.

You might have thought I’ll never know.

Mate, I know all secrets.

Even things said in dark corridors.

Invite me to switch on a light switch,

and as always,

I’ll adhere to whatever you say.

Because you’ve become so almighty powerful,

people sing your praise werever I go,

i don’t know about you but,

I think the same thing happens to you.

I think it happens to you too because;

it’s not I who has a problem,

It’s not I who is well-known–

but you.