The Cobbler Poem by Rishit Desai

Life in the city is an awful hustle,
We make no time to look around;
Must complete a task to start anew that second,
Even the comforting bed is now a battleground.

This morning was like all the rest,
Who but cares for the cuckoo's nest;
Heart was just another muscle today,
Didn't vex nor pain for the grieving breast.

Eager to catch the first train out,
A push and a nudge bereft of a bout;
Time is a treasure never found in abundance,
To steal a moment is ever the key essence.

In some such days I did find success,
Found a few seconds and a task to attend;
In front of me was this diligent craftsman,
He laboured while I spoke to my friend in Phnom Penh.

He rubbed and brushed and polished my shoes,
Put in all his effort, made them shine like new;
While he then got busy and his tools did he rearrange,
I lauded his effort with disgustingly small change.

So much did I like his work,
That i went to him on occasions many;
Amazing was his love for my leather,
In sun or snow or the floody weather.

Now that I think, there was never between us a conversation,
Face to face makes me coy, such is our civilization;
Wonder what changes me when spoke unabated on phone,
Whilst he worked with his tools I played with my own.

Some went to him to shine,
Some went to mend a hole;
Gave everyone the stitch they deserved,
Be it leather, wood or simply a rubber sole.

The sun ceased its role long ago,
But never did it bother me;
My work went into the night,
The setting one was never for me to see.

Today was but a little different, Lo! beholden,
Cam to the station this time untrodden;
Sinking sun still shone the sky a golden,
Disembarked the same platform, That which was boustrophedon.

Saw the repairman sitting all alone,
As if waiting for someone whilst his hair windblown;
Packed and ready to go were his many-a-tool,
Couldn't figure out what was holding up his schedule.

Stood and watched him pass his time,
So did I as smoke my face atone(d):
He played with the dog or was it the other,
Who derided the shoeman as if a bone.

The next few seconds left me shell-shocked,
In these few seconds my whole life was mocked;
In these few seconds every knit of my veins unravelled,
Left me still, motionless on this platform so often travelled.

Came this youth I took him for his son,
Sat down in front of the ol' man with his back complete;
Laboured limbs latched around with joy and fun,
Piggy back he rode, Alas! ! ! The Cobbler had no feet.