When the sun goes down,
Birds return to the neem tree,
And carouse for half an hour
Before going to sleep
Rickshaw pullers under the tree
Are dozing, their fallen cheeks
Tinged with the rays
Of the setting sun
Those who have arrived
By 5.30 train, have left,
And those who’ll catch 6.10
Are smoking, sipping tea
A beggar appears
Before a sweet shop,
And chased away by
The shopkeeper boy
A wounded dog
Wriggles between the legs
In search of biscuit crumbs
Meantime, the sun has sunk,
Birds have fallen asleep
A train whistles
The pullers raise heads
Cars, bikes, tuk tuks
Will carry people home,
Many will walk to save a coin
A babu may hire a puller
For a joy ride
The rest will doze again,
Till the next horn, they hear,
Do mosquitoes bite them?
Why are they dozing in the evening?
Are they killing time?
Or are they killing themselves?
If I ask, you may be offended,
So I stop.
