A trafficky evening
I looked at the back
Of my rickshaw puller.
A shirt gone sheer
From regular moisture
Of a sweat of daily toils.
Through a visible rip
dark skin
ripping hard-earned muscles
Working rhythmically
With the mechanics of the rickshaw.
Yes, his poverty gaped
Shrieked
Yet I called him fortunate
Poor but a man
With neither breasts
Nor a smart phone
To uphold and guard.
Illiterate but wise of streets and tyres
Un-classy but free of complications
No gay divorce
No kind fights
No expectations to exceed.
Just get fed
Get drunk
Get laid
Survive
I looked at the back
Of my rickshaw puller.
A shirt gone sheer
From regular moisture
Of a sweat of daily toils.
Through a visible rip
dark skin
ripping hard-earned muscles
Working rhythmically
With the mechanics of the rickshaw.
Yes, his poverty gaped
Shrieked
Yet I called him fortunate
Poor but a man
With neither breasts
Nor a smart phone
To uphold and guard.
Illiterate but wise of streets and tyres
Un-classy but free of complications
No gay divorce
No kind fights
No expectations to exceed.
Just get fed
Get drunk
Get laid
Survive