I wrote this poem on a person who is essentially a garbageman, yet plies his trade by collecting recycled material which he sells on. In a third world country such as this, the concept of recycling is still to progress, thus in recycling the leftovers of those who conquer him, he, in a way, recycles the remnants of his life i.e his soul. It is difficult to imagine what sort of a life one must live wherein they basically buy garbage only to sell it on for a measly profit, and this poem tries to capture the struggles that he faces during his daily work. Even one he has reached the age where he is barely able to function properly, he -quite literally- cannot stop working, for death remains only a whisker away. Despite that, he still has the will to keep moving forth. 

By: Fadil Hashmey