One dice getting tossed under
Three plastic cups
The street hustler makes his living
As pick-pocket boys rip off
Thronging bystanders
The shop vendor swats flies
His help lighting incense to the Gods
Then they sit in wait
for the morning business to begin
An elderly lady, crouched in her nine yards
Arranges sprouted pulses in her basket
Hoping what doesn’t feed the family, will sell
A lady, nattily dressed in her suit
Gets off the cab, setting her hair, with anxiety
That the new job may be hers
Two rickshaw drivers, chewing betel
Lech at her behind, awaiting their turn
In the CNG line
The BEST bus driver, cuts the cabbie
Garrulous expletives are exchanged
In between the story
Of how the cabbie’s son is doing his CA
I reach office and alight, reflecting
On how the street runs on hope.
(Penned April 1, 2010)
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