The Man with a Home

A poem by Achuthan Panikath

Tue Mar 10 2026

I had to look away.
Simply too much pain and desolation —
A calamity of desperation.

Stewing in my discomfort
Of Hypothesized benevolence,
Of Supreme humanity,
And of course of the genius recognition
That the intelligent can't just give,
We must cultivate a systemic solution,
I drew the obvious moral minimum —
I must apologize for all that I could give but won't;
Least of all the dignity of time,
And I must make no fool of this nameless stench
By lingering with my eyes on his plight —
any longer, and my own, no doubt.

Curt shrug. Murmur on the best of days?
The worst see me wrap him in the blanket of invisibility,
To look through his soul to the notice on the coffee shop.
A voice powerless to manifest its fate
echoes on around the curb:
"Have a good day."

Wait a minute, what's that now?
In bronze majesty, sculpted with divine brilliance
Lies the life-inspiring hollow man,
Detailed with the nuances of poverty, mortality and defeat.
I get the scent of habitual dolor.

Surreal art.
Oozes life.
I had to stand and stare.