Three tramps

at the roadway.

One with shabby beard

untended fully for months.

Other with a cloak

made of hearth rug

Next with a self-made blade

flaking the potatoes.

Fire lit in a can

with an opening complete

on the crown and

a small one at the side.

May be to bar the breeze .

I saw one of them

pushing brushwood,

into the fire lit, can.

A burnt can on top of the can.

One puts a little oil and

the begged onions.

Another puts the potatoes

to let it fry.

Later, adds some water

creating a pool in the can.

Advanced pedestrians passed by

grinning, smiling, giggling.

Some how cooked rice

served on the polythene plates.

When ready to gobble up

their eyes caught mine.

Changed into tomatoes.

Started muttering at me,

which I could not catch up.

I felt as a culprit,

prodding into their business.

I glided away

being a witness of

 a strange picnic.


Poetry by Bhakta Raj Giri
Read 337 times
Written on 2006-12-05 at 05:21

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Wow! This is so heartfelt and unique. Sometimes when watching something unique and interesting..we feel as if we are intruders into "their world". Excellent write!