The garish outfit was dangerously flirting at the brim of being called outlandish,
The long beard he donned was appearing strangely bizarre,
The bright fedora had curiosity written on it,
And the valise in his hand had the sparkle of some shining star.

He cruised along,
Ignoring every laughing soul,
That giggled and squabbled,
As he crossed them,
With an radiant beguile.

He had no time to,
Stop and wait,
For he was on a mission,
And everything but his purpose,
Was a just a mere distraction.

What the people said,
Or what the world would do,
Was not his interest,
And with confidence in his strides,
And eyes on his goal,
He marched ahead,
Nurturing his beliefs,
And swelling with pride.

Copyright © Shantanu Baruah

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