Rickshaw And The Puller
Rickshaw though born in Japan,
by Md. Ziaul Haque
The land of the rising sun,
Reaches many nations,
Aiming to extend beauty and offer, for the poor, options.
The rickshaw of three wheels,
The puller pensively feels,
Has been a blessing,
Ever since his wheel of fortune is in confused swing.
It's his Mercedes, helping him earn the bread,
Even its least trouble makes him utterly mad,
Some days prove to be literal cornucopia,
Others give birth to misery inside the messy dystopia.
Pulling the rickshaw is what he is destined to do,
Whether soaked in rain the wheels must go,
Lunchtime for him bears hardly any meaning at times,
The kids' faces let him forget the sadness while he climbs.
The rickshaw is his existence, the true friend ever,
As if Helios' ‘chariot of the sun' transformed its nature,
Regardless of sporadic healing, ever ready to rock,
He doesn't give a damn if others try to mock.