Old eye rested on me
and sputtered in mighty spit, he,
of days past,
that, akin his skin, scarcely did last.
I was…once”, he croaked,
“like coal in a fire stoked,
like the black bull, poked,
and now in city din, choked!”
Puffing on his beedi wrench,
coughed out a filthy stench.
Scratched his head of strands uncouth
and smiled his mouth of a tooth.
“Today, hurried feet in flight,
no smiles, just grim might.
Not much, we had, then, for the night.
But lives were, ones full of light.”
