On the street one day...

THE COBBLER, MAN


With the morning dust
Scattered ahead
Cross-legged he sat
The cobbler, man

With solemn gaze
Slowly he placed
The wares before him
In perfect pairs

Sunlight clean, streamed through leaves
Formed dancing patterns
On the ground
And on his mind unsettled too

‘Will someone trip
And snap her sandal strap?
Will someone his ankle twist
And let his shoe-heel fly?’
He waited in vain
For misery to strike
And his empty penny-box
In earnest to fill

He placed the needle
In a perfect line
Right ahead in the
Centre of his square

No, it didn’t seem right
To place it here
On the left then
Let’s place it there

To the centre again
And then to the right
Thus he spent his time
Waiting in vain
For misery to strike

He then packed his wares
With a twisted frown
Saying
‘Luck runs high here
For passers-by’

So he left in search
Of a place uneven
Where men tripped and fell
And let their shoe-heels fly.