Santa Claus Poem by Puspanjali Sahu

An old man
An old rich man
An old rich lonely man
with his
big belly
half curly, well maintained
but anomic white hairs
and long grey beard
walks on the busy yet lonely
street of
New York
every evening
aimlessly
hopelessly and
creating a kind of roughness
inside his heart, on his face
and in the atmosphere
unknowingly


A little girl
with her favourite balloons
In her little tiny hands
and smile of satisfaction
in her eyes
walks on the same road
every evening
Greets every moving and non-moving objects
come on her way
with the most soft brisk
‘'Hi''
With a hope that
before the night turns too dark
Her colourful balloons
someone will buy

But a wandering silence
covers her face
when she meets the old man
The old rich lonely man


Sometimes, once in a while
a feeling, a wish
also breaks the walls
made of desolation and devastation
and enters into the closed heart of
the man
the old rich lonely man
that
If he had a daughter
his life would have colours
just like the balloons

His dreams would have a purpose
and
his breaths would have a cause


One day
the man
the old rich lonely man
tried hard
gathered all his courage
and smiled at the little girl

The girl's smile
take a pause
But the very next moment
she jumped into the hands of
the man
and said
I was thinking
I know you
I saw you somewhere
Now I got
You are
The same Santa Claus
My Santa Claus
Who came last year
and brought me
a pink frock
that I love to wear

And
after that
I never saw
the old man
the old rich but may not be lonely man
walking on the street of New York
searching for a cause