Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
426 · May 2017
The Hawkers Dream
The beaming sunlight touches upon a face
Staring at the life passing by without hope or whim
The mundane life seems set for him
His wares lie neglected and dejected

The religious fervour around the temples
The murmurs of the hurried man reach his ears and meant nothing
The waft of aromatic food meant nothing to him
Yet they were once part of his memory

When the beads of perspiration meant
The sale of the day and how the journey ended in happiness
But the colours in his basket remain only the rainbow in his memories
Rueful and ephemeral, he basks in melancholic certainty

The streets are paved with strange humans
Using phone like toys attached to their eyes
Like a child who wanted the most delicious candy
And couldn’t let it go out of sight

The hustle and bustle tire him out
Maybe the world needed his removal
But his dream still takes him into the
Bylanes where hope and a smile shone
And delved into nothingness

— The End —