At Last Found Poem by Gangadharan nair Pulingat..

He lived in a small room here
In this busiest town where people are busiest
Always to find their own bread and butter
Or to make resources for a bright future
None is bothered to know things
There is no such a thing as identity here
All are flowing in the busy world
Where he lives from his twenty first age onward
Different jobs he done for a living
Different people he met in the ways
Alas! no one bothered where his identity lies
At last the final day came as usual to everyone
The day of final farewell he slept in coma
The neighbors came and searched for his identity
No where it is traced out at last it decided
A man he was good to his life, but identity lost
He is an orphan and may his body removed for cremation
In a public burial ground with all formalities
His identity lies in Public domain ever there.