The Banjara…

Unapologeticallyyourstruly
2 min readDec 6, 2023

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His turban rolled,

His beard outgrown,

In a beaded tired attire,

A jhola in tow,

A look forlorn.

He arrived pristinely,

In the town square

And spread his belongings

on the land bare.

He went about his day

Trading his craft for grains

He played his organ

Until the light faded away.

The elderly loathed him

A vagrant, they called him

Kids flocked to him however

They found the old hag endearing

Since they were privy to magic

For the first time ever.

A few days here

Then a few days there,

The Banjara toured the city,

Amongst every small and mighty.

After a long day

Of treading through the town

He rested away

By the wayside until dawn.

Everyday he awoke and spent

His day with the kids in tow

This continued a while

Little did the little ones know

One day they would reach the wayside

To find the Banjara in his sleep had died.

With nowhere to go

No one to care

He was buried beside

The same town square.

The kids cried a bucket

Their hearts so pure,

They collected his trinkets

And as they placed it

Along side his grave,

The elders sighed

But none shed a tear.

It continued to be somber awhile,

Until again a man arrived.

His Turban rolled,

His beard outgrown,

In a beaded tired attire,

A jhola in tow,

A look forlorn.

Sat pristinely in the town square

And placed his belongings

On the land bare.

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Unapologeticallyyourstruly
Unapologeticallyyourstruly

Written by Unapologeticallyyourstruly

Pathologically curious, I say it like I see it.

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