Onions and the Man

A strange creation of God is Man.

And bizarre are his ways that

We often say as Lord’s will.

But Man is strange still,

And stranger are his ways that

None other but only another

Man, and only a Man catch.

My neighbour, a respectable one

Past 50’s and settled with a job,

Family, son and a grandson

House, flat, bank balance and all.

But age spares none

And he is no exception.

A recent fractured limb

Got him a supporting crutch.

And man is the complaining child

That he always is.

So, similar is the case

With my gentleman here.

Now he laments his age

And clings to things dear.

Well the evening was nice

The sky was clear

Setting sun coloured the scatter

Of the clouds few here and there.

The eve was now already spiced

With the flavours of the Frieds down the corner.

Mmm...I’ll go down and get a chicken chop

And an egg roll from the shop at opp.

Yes here he comes , I can see.

He’s got a load filled with onions,

There are potatoes and other things as well.

Now he stops just below my balcony,

Gets down from the rickshaw-van

Off to the shop three blocks far

To the mobile recharge man.

And now I see my neighbour come round

He, who had been sitting on his flat stairs

And was watching the evening stares.

He was casual, saw this way and that

And picked up not one, not two but

A handful of onions!

Smarted into his pockets fast

And walked to his stairs and sat

As if nothing had happened as a fact!