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The cobbler

There is an old cobbler who sits on the footpath
In the morning he fills the public water mud pot,

Grey shirt and dark colored trousers every day
Worn and stained out due to work night and day,

The old tanned and tired dazzles an effortless sweet smile
Wrinkle web on his honest face speaks his day and night toil,

Polishing mending the shoes give him a meager number of coins,
His self respect returns the generously given “a few extra coins”,

Some days pass with no shoes and sandals broken,
No fear no tears happily home the poor fellow returns;

One day I walk past the melancholy road and see him no where,
The emptiness chokes my thoughts about his not being there …

-Chitkala Mulye

25 thoughts on “The cobbler”

  10. I especially like “Wrinkle web on his honest face”. The poem puts me in mind of a convenience store attendant I once “knew.” I didn’t even know his name but he was always there, on the way home from work, with a smile and cheerful words. Then, one day, he was there no more. An emptiness, as you say so well.

    Liked by 1 person

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