He was an old man , my rickshaw Wala, a little lost and flustered
I joked about the heat and then he apologized and told me his mother had passed not 5 days ago. I mumbled a feeble condolence. Struck by his pain and strength I watched in silence as he wove through the streets, weeping silently. This is life, this is how it rolls
Ah! That moment when you realise time and tide wait for no man. Should it liberate us? Or enfeeble us?
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