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!