A Bootblack

By Ballaleshwar Tela

A bootblack in scruffy attire

Was sitting out on foot-path

For days he had not bathed

Yet, his appearance left me inspired

The old man left home for solitary pursuits

Accompanied by a tie, blazer,

And a dictionary for pleasure

Him- “Opulence is the cause of all disputes”

Eloquently spoke on subjects of wisdom

No sphere of study he trod not

Left materials he had bought,

In hunt for true freedom

Where he ate, where he slept?

Is a riddle I still face

“Why even we met under space?”

Left me longing,

for his knowing; which to himself he kept

Its twenty years have passed

Since a meal I offered him

Then he left on a whim

On footpaths, to carefully polish shoes,

of people, who before him held no class.

By Ballaleshwar Tela