(Inspired from a fleeting sight of a blind beggars with no legs sitting outside.a mosque during a trip to Chandigarh. The site and location while relevant for this writing are pretty much universal.)
Gilded wheels, Kings gold not real
Lacquered-over gold with ripped hands,
Circled black rubber soles
Torn and retreaded by hands,
Old rubber ripped, applied
Edges only felt by hand,
Dark corners unseen in dark city nights.
Chromed Metal edges worn down
Notched with kills from daily battles,
Navigating encounters from wayward warriors
Weaving in out of city crossings, streets,
Hearing, touching feeling only by
Bent shoulders and grimy hands.
Learning from an age where
Learning should be play not learning,
Showing age from worn lacquer,
Chariot resplendent in its daily drudgery.
Chariots mast festooned with ribbons
No celebration here – red heralds the
King’s chariot to seeing and unseeing eyes
Warriors ensconced in cool machined boxes,
World around them known
But unknown in mind.
Chariot races with the king,
Morning ritual a daily occurrence.
Kings eyes see through hearing
No sight, minds eye takes over
Navigates empty streets in mornings,
With practiced perfection.
Urgency takes over,
Thrones taken and traded
With merciless efficiency.
Trading learnt from ages
Livelihood life risked,
Bet of single daily meal
Hangs in the blind justice’s scales.
King navigates to his kingdom,
Prepares, adjusts and waits,
Looks upwards with empty unseeing eyes,
Searches with open ears,
Calls of prayer to begin,
Faith and faithful to congregate.
Faithless, hungry, blind, disabled,
Beggar of a king,
Resplendent in his kings chariot,
Ready for his kingdom,
Ready for his daily collection
Of single life giving meal.