Gone are the
times when the milk-boy came
Driving his cow or
buffalo up to our home
To draw milk into the
pail with hissing froth
And pour fresh pure
milk with no water mixt;
But now in the grey dim light of the dawn
With a load of milk-sachets he has to
go
Moving up and down
the stairs with athletic speed
Dropping milk packets
of various brands
Marking each flat’s
ordered items;
Hundreds of homes he
touches with winged feet
He comes and
vanishes, no time to speak
Even if he drops
wrong items sometimes;
His going thence felt
by his tapping shoes;
After this
breathtaking breaking schedule
He has to run to
school or to work in a shop
To prop his family
with his meagre returns;
The chilly weather
pinches his warm limbs
As he tightens his
lips and moves with hurried steps;
No time for him to
sleep in warm, soft cosy bed
No time to drink hot
coffee in leisurely way
With early sunrise he
has to start his day;
If he by chance doth
skip his work one day
Our morning hours
become too cold and grey
His ringing bicycle
bell, a welcome happy call
As merry as a
rooster’s cry in early morn;
For all who crave for
hot coffee in morning time;
Like chirping birds
skipping from bough to bough
Looking for bits of crumbs with nimble looks.
********************************
19th August, 2019 Somaseshu Gutala
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