Not an Orphan

I once saw a man,
Still standing after the rain was gone.
His face and beard soaked wet,
Shoe laces untied, messed up, disarranged.

He's looking far,
As if he doesn't care---
of the things that are just near,
He's not moving, never he will.

He's just silent,
As if he can't speak.
What's on his mind at the moment?,
Or has his mind has a dent?.

Somebody said he's an observer,
The people who watches heaven and hell.
Was he been there?,
We don't know, We never will.

His existence is a complete enigma,
Nor why he is still standing after the gale.
We can't even tell if he's a winner,
Or just a wounded loser.

One thing is sure,
His scars, a pure mark of valor.
He is orphaned by a fake devotion,
But tomorrow he'll find his savior.

For now he is, But someday he won't be an orphan.
Be it storm or annihilation, He will not be broken.
He won't be shattered, Never will.