An Indian Cobbler

An Indian cobbler I see sitting for ages By the street side Under heat and dust, The Indian cobbler, The Indian cobbler Stitching and sewing The shoes With his tools Mending And polishing, Cutting and pasting. Indian cobbler, An Indian cobbler Cobbling, Mending and repairing, Joining the soles, Pasting And fixing And stitching, Pinning With his hammer, Stitching with the awl And polishing. The world has changed, But the cobbler Sitting under the tree, By the street side, On the platform With the wooden box Going and seeing the boots, The leather sandals In this age Of resin and plastic models Dusting the eyes, A profession in harness, Die in harness. A boy comes, Gets into the train bogey Marking the boots and sandals Keeps asking for polish And glow shine, As for something, A cobbler, An Indian cobbler In harness, Abject poverty and dismay, Labouring hard For what, Just bread and butter And that too not sufficient For survival.