The light turns red,
It's showtime!
The perfect cartwheel for bread,
How much she would earn this time?
He could be a dynamic salesman,
Wondering if he knows about the bestseller?
Despite of hardwork and his tan,
roads deject this weak speller.
Wiping the windshields,
he dreams of a car.
On calculating his yields,
the dream seems so far.
The little barefoot bud,
sells the gorgeous flowers.
Afford a vase if she could,
in a flat in those sky touching towers.
Inhaling the poison,
I sit encircled by a gymnast, salesmen, florists & so on.
Thinking what can I do?
But the light turns green so fast.
Rickshaw catches its speed,
leaving behind the ones in need.
-Shakti
It's showtime!
The perfect cartwheel for bread,
How much she would earn this time?
He could be a dynamic salesman,
Wondering if he knows about the bestseller?
Despite of hardwork and his tan,
roads deject this weak speller.
Wiping the windshields,
he dreams of a car.
On calculating his yields,
the dream seems so far.
The little barefoot bud,
sells the gorgeous flowers.
Afford a vase if she could,
in a flat in those sky touching towers.
Inhaling the poison,
I sit encircled by a gymnast, salesmen, florists & so on.
Thinking what can I do?
But the light turns green so fast.
Rickshaw catches its speed,
leaving behind the ones in need.
-Shakti
I related to the images and the rhythm made the action on the street also drop in the poem
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