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Last night I saw a cabbage-man at Court Bazaar
Lungi-clad, worn-out face, over fifty, stood
By his cycle like a thief and a cabbage kept on its seat
For sale. ‘Take it sir,’ he hesitated.
‘How much?’ I asked.
‘Ten,’ he tenderly put.
Half-an-hour he waited for the buyer
Who promised to buy it on his way back home.
But he didn’t come.
How long did he wait in the cold for his lonely cabbage I thought
And bought it from the man and freed him from his chains.
A smile he splashed, thrice he thumped his empty seat,
And happily rung the bell for home.
Will he come tomorrow with his cabbage sack
And stand sheepishly by the corner of the Court Bazaar?
How can I tell?
Image © Dr. Abu Siddik |
