I am just another ragpicker by the garbage pile,
With my clothes torn at the seams,
Collecting what’s left of yesterday’s dreams,
And broken things and clothes out of style.

Every day is a journey of discovery,
A way to understand the peoples of the world,
Each broken bottle has its own story,
Each crumpled paper- a love untold.

Sometimes I really wonder why people are so restless,
To throw such beautiful things away,
Aren’t these so nostalgic, so precious,
These memorabilia of a forgotten day.

Yet that’s the way it is,
And my life goes on,
We ragpickers are the vultures of the cities,
And like vultures we too are frowned upon.