Renaissance Man

Walking the streets,one  late evening

Taking in the sights and sounds,good and bad

Saw this man on a corner stump, sitting

Clothes tattered,skin dull

But his eyes,his eyes were what caught me

Bright,young for his age,all-seeing, wise

Plucking an old beat up guitar on his lap,a string missing

Humming,definitely not looking at me

Across the street,sat two lovers oblivious to the world

In the background, Grey formations that have once oozed and have dried.

I stood there listening to his song

Painting vividly what living is about.

My imagination could never be that precise

Said to him,"Sir,you're brilliant, you're an artist."

And he replied,"No,I'm not a poet because writing is only done in black and white,

And I'm not a painter for a canvas can never hold life's many dimensions."

I nodded and walked on pensively while the minstrel sang.

Someone had pelt him with a bottle afterward.