the florist

trod ding the trodden streets, many of us haven't taken note of some beautiful things we miss on

 here's one


as i walked down the streets,
my heavy heart noticed
a figure in the dark
near the corner,the martyr's corner;

some lazy light shone on her face
scorched by the daily sun,
some strokes of  smoky hair lay on her forehead
which she persistently tried removing,
her hands as thin as a candle
yet so young and pure
too weary of work
but still ready to yield to more,
her dress so well stitched
and pinned in the right places
as if it were her ornament,
and her pretty face of which i only caught a glimpse
was silently speaking!.......

a beauty i believe in heaven or on earth
shall not be so easily misused
as this one....

i scratched my pocket
to struggle with some penny
Alas!in vein
i could only watch her life go on and i did!

the pretty face had still hope
hope of selling yet some more,
hope of returning with food,
hope which started every morning
and never died with the night!

a speeding car stopped by the flower shop
a man(the richest one) walked over
stood there in silence
and suddenly lay his hands on hers
most strikingly she fumbled
lowering her head
she guarded her discomfort
in the night sky it was easier
her frozen lips whispering
'what had made such a man
cometh my place
hollow my sole
yet have i many floweers
to offer the
orchid,blossom or rose?'
'you' answered the hard hearted man;
very swiftly he had moved
a little into the shop
and glorified his character;
pulling her by the neck
with the other hand he
caught the basket that she'd make
'see ya next time
when the night is lonelier!'grinned the man;
'seeth sier'she replied
and sank into the chair beside
with her heart in her hand
and turning breathless;

the pretty face almost
broke into tears
her face so downtrodden
her limbs so weak
yet her conscience so alive
her morals so living;

on an orchid which saw her tear fall
caught one it seemed
she stared at it
and said "yes ye rightee
am i to lose hope
my husband shall
dieyee off ill'
she knitted her hands
one on top of the other
and recited her prayers;

another stranger stopped by her........

as the streets were washed away
of its dirt every moment
by the relentless rains,
so did her hands wipe off
her fears
her tears
and yet again she was ready for
another torture!.........
i don't pity her
i adore her!

here she strives through life
begging
and i cry over simple
unravelled life......
i owe her something
gratitude.