Tomatoes for ten, onions for twenty,
Mushrooms for two hundred, because they do not sell in plenty.
He walks around the streets, in the wind and the sun,
When it begins to rain, all he can do is run.
He is his own radio, his own microphone,
Him, his cart, his veggies and his tone.
Out come rushing the women with their bags and baskets,
They’re all set to bargain; for guards, greens and peas in packets.
They inspect the veggies as he verbally certifies them to be newborns,
“We just plucked these beans madam, as we did these corns.”
“Alright, half a kilo brinjal, half a kilo knol khol,
Add some mint, some chillies and tell me the reduced total.”
He grumbles and mumbles, making up the bill amount,
He sums up, mentally noting his daily account.
The greens must be sold out sooner, the tomatoes too,
No one wants a soggy beetroot or a potato that is blue.
Many more streets to cover, as he pushes his cart ahead,
The ultimate motto, after all, is to peacefully go to bed.
Till Next Time,
Eat healthy 🙂