No place to rest
On the dusty blazing streets
Peddling fruits of joy
Keeping up with the rain and sun
Pushing an old bicycle
A large basket mounted on rear
Full of Citrus or Guavas

Nurturing the children
For thirty years 'til his last breath
Beaten by a careless truck
Earning two good dollars a day
And small sums of love
No one inquires about his name or place
But "Brother Milli-Gram" had fame

Big heart, cute, thin, balding
Short, innocent, kind, smiling
With a handsome mustache
Smoking short licked cigarettes
Drawing thru a rounded fist
Singing out through the neighborhoods:
"Chopped Up And Spicy
Red Guavas Are Yum-myyyyy"

(by Fazeel Azeez Chauhan)
9-10-98