by Muhammad Shanazar
Alongside the path a man very old
At half rate fresh oranges he sold
In the dim light of an electric pole
For he wished to sell the stuff whole.
At the midnight he sat with a hope
Beside the brimming basket to cope
With the domestic needs of future
To smash, break an ensnaring rope
Of misfortune but no one came by
While he made a silent unheard cry.
In the morn when the sun rose bright,
To reveal the spot of fear and fright,
The vendor lay prostrate motionless,
Ah! The basket was empty at the sight.
Last updated June 22, 2011