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A tryst with fate! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

A ten year old with chilled water bottles in hand
Runs as cars halt, and traffic signal turns red.
On a hot sultry day, says to the lady, it’s a good brand.
Wipes his nose with his torn shirt sleeve, as it bled.

A kind man gently took him under the shade,
Uncapped and poured the chilled water on his head.
Drop by dropp fed him with spoon some lemonade.
But for the Good Samaritan, would he be dead?

In a short while, the boy came round, a lot flushed.
Looked at the elderly man, gratitude writ large on his face.
Son, rest a while, don’t go in Sun to sell water in a rush.
The boy lifted his hands and said, you came, its God’s grace.

Am the sole bread winner, as my father died in a cyclone.
Who can quarrel with what he ordains and wills…?
I don’t have the luxury or the time to sit and mourn,
Live in the past, or sit back and rest, when a wee bit ill.

Stoically stood up, and ran after the screeching cars.
Waving bottles in the air: please buy one for the road.
He should be in school, I thought watching from afar.
He learns all the things on the road… in no time had all sold.

poem by Mamta Agarwal
Added by Poetry Lover
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