There was at the footpath
Adjacent to Azad Park-
Of the hawkers, cobblers
Old-book sellers and
The beggars.
Only the fortune tellers,
Remain.
Sitting aloof, without
Shuffling their tarot cards.
Making no efforts to appeal
To the passers-by.
I don't know what happened
To all those seekers who
Wanted their hands read,
All the time.
Did everyone who sought
Got their fortunes,
And forgot this emissary
Of the lord?
What's the thickness of
Poverty to have them
Believe in astrology? I ask
With my eyes as I pass.
He vents a puff from the
Unlit bidi to point me,
At his parrot-less cage
Adjacent to Azad Park-
Of the hawkers, cobblers
Old-book sellers and
The beggars.
Only the fortune tellers,
Remain.
Sitting aloof, without
Shuffling their tarot cards.
Making no efforts to appeal
To the passers-by.
I don't know what happened
To all those seekers who
Wanted their hands read,
All the time.
Did everyone who sought
Got their fortunes,
And forgot this emissary
Of the lord?
What's the thickness of
Poverty to have them
Believe in astrology? I ask
With my eyes as I pass.
He vents a puff from the
Unlit bidi to point me,
At his parrot-less cage
And empty pockets-
To say that he was the
Only believer left.
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