The Mime Story Teller


I went miles
In search of a story teller
And found him
Neatly placed in my purse

There are men
Who sleep in his thought
Who lost sleep in his trot
Whose dreams were bought
By the mime story teller.

He transcended
From many years in the past
And took many names
In world’s different parts

He sometimes comes fresh
Sometimes crumpled in shabby fingers
How ever may he come
The doors stand open
For the mime story teller.

When I found him
Or rather when he made me find him
I stared at him
He stared back at me

From the hands of a new-born
He has a story of no meaning
From that of a little child
He knows colours of sweet candies
The mime story teller

From the grip of greed
He sings songs of momentary pleasure
From the heart of generosity
He picks the charm of endless giving

From the hands of poverty
He comes wet with pain
From that of sinners
He carries stains unseen
The mime story teller

Thus his journey
Goes on and on
His stories
Seldom heard

He spins a web
Across the earth
Makes puppets out of men
Of women, Of children
The mime story teller.

His story is staged
Day and night
On the grandest stage
Which only stars look upon.

When the end comes
He will die
So will she, you and I
Only the sky will live to cry
For the tale of the mime story teller.

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