The eyes closing with increasing crease on forehead;
The heart beats faster and every breath was spent
on futile attempts to move forward the cart.
The tethers tightened over shoulder with pain of piercing dart.
It moved a bit under the May-Sun;
The heat making the load, heavier by a ton.
Sweat dripped like a thatched roof leaking in monsoons;
Sweltering under his own courage, the man droops.
The muscles contracted in a rhythm;
The body was weak and febrile.
Teeth clashed violently and lips parted;
The despondent face gave a virtual feeble smile.
Two old hands supported the cart’s end;
A weak arc back was acutely bent.
His grey hair was perfect companion for his gloomy eyes;
His sweaty palms lacked the strength that will suffice.
The old man had no future ahead,
Only an abysmal past;
After fording many fierce streams,
still had to cross an ocean so vast.
“Oh! Just a little bit more and then we are through the steep”
Shouted the old man; standing bare feet on the burning concrete.
The legs moved again, the wheels rolled a bit more,
but still the languid bodies have no leisure to afford.
The man pulled the burden of his youth;
The old man pushed the burden of his past;
for the gargantuan load of their lives was
getting heavier by every moment so aghast.
It was May in Lucknow, and it really gets hot there at this time. A young man along with a pretty old guy (may be his grand father) was trying to pull up a over loaded cart under the merciless, boiling sun.The struggle in pulling up the cart, specially of that Old fellow who is pushig the cart from back with all strength is evidence of the failure of the social system in this world.
