Everyone's Got A Story

I see the old man,
with his wrinkled face,
wrinkled even more,
with that frown he carries,
his brow furrowed as he surveys,
the damage to his window,
from a stray ball hit by a careless,joyful youth,
who had the courage to apologise,
and suddenly,
the frown is a smile,
filled with understanding,
of the brashness of a young mind,
it's alright he says,
and gives the young man a time,
to mend his unmeant mistake;

The old man's eyes,
glaze over momentarily,
from events long turned into memories,
memories he never wished to dust off all too often,
for he adored the present,
as he sees me walk past,
he asks,coffee?

We sit in his house,immaculately clean,
I wonder when I see his white walls,
plain as a newly wed's home,
waiting to be adorned with pictures,
as to whether he was born yesterday,
but it cannot be,
he was there when I graduated from college,
he chaperoned my promenade,
he gave me candy at every Chirstmas,
he babysat me when the parents were just wishing to escape,
for he seemed to understand,
the prespective of a harried adult perfectly as well;

We enjoyed each other's daily company,
be it for an hour or even two or three,
for we would talk and listen,
about things that truly mattered,
about the most recent events,
about the food we love,
about our different cultures,
about music that stirred the soul,
about art that stimulated the mind,
about ideas that wouldn't change the world,
but rather,transform ourselves,
and in turn,
make this world a better place,
for us,at the very least;

And one fine evening,
he gave me his story,
frankly speaking,
it was more exciting than any cinema,
definetly anything but boring and dry,
and I hung onto each and every word,
and my eyes feasted over his days long gone,
caught magically on paper,
which he produced ,
from the inner confines of his room,
they were meant to be framed ,
hung on his walls,
for they told captivating tales,
of a young man and his adventures,
from the queen's country to the sacred land of the 3 faiths,
from the land of the rising sun to the city that never sleeps,
always smiling that carefree smile,
but he is now at a distant airfield,
with that smile now shining ,
with a hint of patriotic fervour,
the next one shows him convalescing,
in a sombre setting,
with that smile reassuring his viewers,
of his recovery from some horrendous wound,
there is he once more,
standing beside a modest shop,
with his name,
on a beautifully made sign,
the display offering,
alcohol,spirits and other fineries;
the smile reflecting a dream come true,
the next one shows,
his dream relenquished,
to one of the big timers,
for enough prosperity,
to last a couple of lifetimes;

Well,that young man has long gone,
and all that is left is his shell,
and in that shell, is a lifetime's worth of wisdom,
a wonderful history,
which made me wonder,
if I could fill,
with even grander possiblities,
the fresh,blank pages of my life;

As I left this exciting gentleman's hearth,
promising ,as usual to meet him tomorrow,
I saw the people of this world,
in another,fascinating light,
everyone's got a story I thought,
as I saw my father,
fazzled from the day's drudgery,
my mother,
with her cheeks red,
from the hot broth,
brewing for the family in the kitchen,
even as I glanced,
at a portrait ,
of my grandfather,
with his deep,penetrating gaze,
I affirmed;
everyone's got a story