Newspaper Boy’s Song

Sun is to rise,

It is morning five,

Dew drops on grass, these beautiful fresh vibes.

I peddle my bike with eight bundles stacked,

On my back and side by side.

Woo — I turn the wheels

To that other known lane,

Be it winter, summer or rain.

Dark night has gone

Big orange sun has borne

And listen to my new morning song.

Here the papers come, open your doors,

One by one on the floors.

I make a roll and with a blow

Zip-zoom-swoosh, you get to know.

I see Mr. Cupid struck on phone at 6 ‘o’clock

In the balcony, his lady going on talk

Zap the roll, smashes a target

Mistakenly it is his round forehead

He gives me a look and shows a punch

Woo … these Indians frown so much

covering the colony and emptying the stacks

I go back home and it is 8 o’clock

While on the ride, I keep worries at bay

I sing songs to make my rosy day

I will peddle my bike with eight bundles stacked

On the back and side by side

Listen to my new songs, tap your feet

Newspaper in your hand with a cup of coffee or tea

I will turn the wheels

To that every other lane

Be it winter, summer or rain.

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It really drew my attention to the routine life of a newspaper boy…Nice:)


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