Thursday, December 17, 2015

The 'Old' Rag Picker....

He walked down the aisle of dusky lane,
When the moon was set to go back in den
And the sun was rising to welcome rain,
The wind was dancing to the joy of day.

The birds on tree sang the song of hope,
And lane was filled with the moving spur!
The world wakes up for another day,
To welcome the freshness around in bay,
But,
"He" smiles midst the stench of your house,
The odor of waste that you all call !
Like a munchkin walking with his spouse,
He walks in hand and smiles with the foul.

Who is he?Thy rises from amongst us,
And moves against the crowd of worldly lust!
His eyes are sunken with the years of search,
Walking through the tiff of wealthy dirt!

His hands are crispy of  kissing the mud,
While digging the ground and picking up rug!
His weary shoulder speaks of the years,
that he carried all that was yours in pierce!

Alas, but when you pass by your bay ,
You sniff your nose and turn away!
But he listens to the tale of your rag,
And carries it close without a gag!

He talks to the broken glasses silently,
And the crumpled paper thrown violently!
They all narrate the pain of being dumped away,
In the corner of the lane, left to grey!


He separates the raw from the cooked ones,
Because,The 'old 'rag picker knows the pun!
His experience tells him their agony and pain,
Of not getting the respect they otherwise gain!

He gets them together and piles up the spaced,
And gives a life to the worthy waste!
They give him food and he gives them way,
To move ahead and find another ray......

 He tells the world to live this way,
Carve the path and move with chaste,
Thy not dump thinking of waste,
Else pull up one,he will guide you to another way.....

P.S :The world and the wealth is a vicious cycle.Many a times we are thrown down for being of no use unless some one holds on to trust us to move ahead.And then you realize that it is actually "you" who helped him to find the way but he got you to the path to move ahead.Never look down on any one for every waste has a best hidden just an old rag picker needs to pull it out.

-SSW

I stopped Writing...

Why i stopped writing and then withered down with no words to carve  on the narrations of  so many perspectives At times it is therapeutic a...