When the gong sounds ten in the morning

and I walk to school by our lane,

Everyday I meet the hawker crying,

"Bangles, crystal bangles!"

There is nothing to hurry him on,

there is no road he must take, no place he must

go to, no time when he must come home.

I wish I were a hawker, spending my

day in the road, crying, 'Bangles, crystal bangles!'.

When at four in the afternoon I come

back from the school,

I can see through the gate of that house

the gardener digging the ground.

He does what he likes with his spade,

he soils his clothes with dust, nobody takes

him to task if he gets baked in the sun or gets wet.

I wish I were a gardener digging away

at the garden with nobody to stop me from digging.

Just as it gets dark in the evening and

my mother sends me to bed,

I can see through my open window the

watchman walking up and down.

The lane is dark and lonely, and the

streetlamp stands like a giant with one red eye in its head.

The watchman swings his lantern and

walks with his shadow at his side, and

never once goes to bed in his life.

I wish I were a watchman walking the

streets all night, chasing the shadows with my lantern.