In owl-moon night <br />when doors are closed <br />in shut out light <br />lanes breathe morose <br /> <br />He carries the weight <br />dead in drunk sleep <br />in chilled night's sweat <br />of tightened grip <br /> <br />On side of street <br />men burning logs <br />seize some heat <br />as need too dogs <br /> <br />But he must run <br />errand of hell <br />till job is done <br />moon's face goes pale <br /> <br />Jangle hand's bell <br />veins swell up taut <br />marks frame frail <br />battle hard fought <br /> <br />From lane to lane <br />his stone feet roam <br />till rests his pain <br />on pavement home!<br /><br />Pradip Chattopadhyay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/owl-moon-night-the-rickshaw-puller/
