The Paanwala

Spades of green and contented eyes,
Beaming faces and vividly coloured jars
Do rule the life of a certain man.
A dip and a slap of a seraphim
Upon the leaves: the canvas for his art;
A callous joke and a profound remark,
Thrown about in life’s sordid angst,
Swirls around along with wisps of smoke
From the working man’s white filter cigarette:
Conjures up stories, some true, some fantasy.
But the eyes, their tale, do not belie
The raconteur’s books beheld by a rhyme
Crass and loud, like an eagle’s screech
Amidst the sweet sea of blessed taste;
“Ace of spades!” – cries a satiated soul.

Rolled up and neatly folded, it hides
The certain man’s profound art,
The heart of a delectable moment
Post the rollicking in the pub:
A luscious compliment to a repartee,
Delight and thrill combine;
And such glistening eyes – his daily grace,
His little paan shop: his crystal palace.