I saw one man old and weak.
His clothes were tattered,
But his smile was only thing that mattered.
One thing that made me curious was this bag he carried.
He kept it beside him wherever he’d go,
There was another man, I think he was his foe.
The other man saw him with utmost disgust,
One thing was clear,
Their wealth was defined by whose clothes had most tears.
The old man went back to his nook,
The aversion didn’t take leave from the other man’s look.
Late in the evening, I saw the old man again,
He was carrying his favourite bag without which he could not sustain.
I peeked through the narrow window pane,
What I saw I could not contain.
The old man’s bag was full of paper,
There were truckload of people with joined hands and bowed knees.
The old man pulled a bundle of Crisp new notes which had symbols of dollar.
Yet again, I made a blunder by judging a book by it’s cover!
©Shonessa 2017. All rights reserved.
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