His radiant face and sparkling smile
Left me wondering for a while
Innocence writ large on his face
Worry and anxiety had no trace
Had barely reached his teens
Polishing shoes his means
A modest yet proud Pashtoon
Making a living began too soon
His home he left many years ago
Because of war, strife and woe
His education he could not complete
Yet with its yearning he was replete
Gingerly he sat on his teeny stool
And fished out his working tool
With vigour and devotion
In a back and forth motion
He began scrubbing
Rubbing and buffing
Soon he victoriously beamed
Elated on the boots he’d cleaned
Said to me his earnest eyes:
“Dignity in hard labour lies”
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