Gold Man Poem by Akhtar Jawad

Aye sound of a ladies bicycle’s bell,
Old Man! Old Man! Old age is hell.
Two big containers hanging both sides,
That’s why we see your sexy rides.

Aye sound of a ladies bicycle’s bell,
Bold Man! Bold Man! Your call with yell,
Men, women, children all on the gates,
Everyone is fighting on the rates!

Aye sound of a ladies bicycle’s bell,
Fold Man! Fold Man! He is broken I tell!
Having lost his son and his own left hand,
With a bent of back he came to this land!

Aye sound of a ladies bicycle’s bell,
Many things in containers, brings to sell,
Besides bread and butter, cheese and eggs,
For the children many more in the kegs!

Aye sound of a ladies bicycle’s bell,
He is a victim of terror I smell,
For survivals of his family working hard,
His poetry of peace has become a ballad!

Aye sound of a ladies bicycle’s bell,
Gold Man! Gold Man! He is gold I tell!
When I said, may God help you in life!
I can help myself, with Him my strife!

Aye sound of a ladies bicycle’s bell,
Cold Man! Cold Man! Know you very well!
Five times in the mosque I see your shows,
How sincere and tearful are your bows!