The hawker on the street yelled,
trying to sell his wares.
The basket with his hand he held,
bright curtains folded in layers.
He had bangles, rings and chains,
seen with a smile from the panes.
Colours of joy was on her face,
a chain adorned her neck with grace.
He trudges through busy lanes,
facing loss or having gains.
Profuse sweating and sweltering heat,
sometimes without no food to eat.
He has a daughter aged ten,
who wanted bangles now and then.
He couldn't give a pair to her,
the broken heart had a childish scar.
He saw his 'daughter' in 'other girls',
who would wear necklace of pearls.
She was a princess by her looks,
but the Lord had her in different books.
Prasenjit©1997-2012
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