This evening

I met a man this evening,

With motive and mysteries,

There seems nothing missing,

He was blunt and silently speaking.


It seems all right,

I stayed for a while,

Looking at his eyes,

Listened to his low voice.


Suddenly where is he ?

I haven’t moved at all,

Was it a dream,

Or I am dead like my dream.


(Source : remix poem from chapter 5 from the book ‘The Murder of Roger Ackroyd’

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