Monday, 21 February 2011

The Street Child-A poem

She knocks on the windows of the cars
Stopped at the traffic signal,bunches of
Flowers in her hands. If only someone
Would buy some from her, she’d have
A  decent meal of bread and  broth !

She tries hard to attract some pity from
The stone faced people in the cars at
The Traffic Signal but all she gets are
Indifferent stares as if she didn’t exist!

She turns away from car after car,
Her eyes full of sadness and lack of
Sleep.But for a ten Rupee note, she
Would have a good day, a day of Joy!

She draws to my side, her eyes seem to
Say,”Sir, I’m cold and hungry, could you
Buy this bunch of flowers?” I hand her a
Ten Rupee note and tell her to keep the
Bunch of flowers to – think I what hard luck!

She draws away with a smile on her pinched
Weary face! Think I, what hard luck to be
Born on the streets. The streets are dangerous
For waifs like her, but then they are God’s own!

My heart melts when I see a child begging at
The traffic signals, for the streets are dangerous
For waifs like her. They flit around the rich cars,
Like moths around flames, their future a thick fog!

1 comment:

  1. Yes totally agree with you.In INDIA it is observed that someone who born in the streets didn't have any identity of his own.I felt very upset whenever these things to be discussed but neither i can do nor you.So "WELCOME TO INDIA" SIR .