Notes On May Day Poem by Quaid - Uz- Zaman

Every moment runs with the wheel of his labor.
His paddling rests on hunger and uncertainties,
earning a livelihood by churning blood into dew drops
glittering upon his forehead.
He lives for a single day, and there is no tomorrow for him.
From dawn to dusk, or from dusk to dawn,
he paddles.
He captures light, shadows, rains, and frozen winds.
He smells all the dust, all the dissipated fragrance
from the right,
left, and all through the turnings.
And thus, their life goes on.