Poem - Hawkers of my country.

How are you? I hope everyone is well. Today I will share a poem with you. The main theme of which is, hawkers and street vendors.

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They go around, shouting

They go around and shouting,
Be it morning or midday.
They come with baskets and vans full,
Everything is arranged neatly.

They are hawkers,
They are unemployed.
They need us,
Let their cries go.
Sitting anywhere

Wherever they stand,
the hawker brother of the mod.
They sit suddenly,
Wherever they find a place.

Let there be a jam on the road,
There is no time to see.
With such hawkers,
Where do we go?
Noise pollution

Two kilos of onions,
Ninety,
One hundred and six kilos of potatoes.
They are everywhere,
Keeping the microphone on all day long.

No break, no annoyance,
their microphones work.
People are restless due to the noise,
They hold their heads up when night falls.
Daytime

They get up very early and go to the village,
Buy whatever they can afford.
When they return, they carefully decorate the van,
Then they take it to the neighborhood.

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They sell as much as they can,
They chat with each other.
This is the way their life goes,
Maybe they have some money to invest.
We resort to various hawkers and street vendors for our daily needs. Basically, most people go to these vendors for the raw market. There are many low-income people who make a living by doing such hawking. But unfortunately, these people have no idea about the surrounding issues. They have no knowledge of where to stand, where not to stand at all, and whether playing the microphone all day long or even playing the microphone is a social crime. Their such financial activities are sometimes very annoying.