The Blind Hawker

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Noon Meem Rashid Poetry

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The Blind Hawker

Scattered all over the city are
worn out and disfigured dreams
of which the city dwellers are oblivious!
I roam around the city day and night
to collect them
Heat them in the furnace of my heart
so that the old rust on them comes off
Their limbs come out nice and clean
Their lips, cheeks and heads start shimmering
Like the desires of freshly dressed bridegrooms.
So that once again these dreams may find a direction!

"Dreams for sale, dreams ..."
As the morning dawns I go calling out in the streets....
"Are these dreams real or fake?"
They check them out as if there isn't anyone more 
adept at judging them!

A dream maker I'm not either
just a face-lifter....
But yes dreams are the source of my livelihood!

Evening settles in 
and I call out again....
"Free everyone, free, these dreams of gold..."
Hearing "free", people get even more frightened
and slip away lip-tightened...
"Well he says they are 'free'
could it be a sham?
Some hidden deception?
They may break on reaching home
or just melt away, these dreams?
Disappear with a pop somehow
or cast upon us some spell, these dreams?
No sir, of what use could they be?
dreams of this hawker?
dreams of this blind junk  hawker? "

Night sets in
carrying heaps of dreams over my head
disappointed I reach home
Mumble all night again
"Take these dreams...
and take from me their price as well
Take these dreams, dreams...
my dreams ...
dreams .... my dreams .... ...
their pr...iii...ceee as welllll....."

(The Possible of the Imagined)


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