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shona sengupta

(20 august 1997 / India)


The little girl down the lane,
As hail rattles on her window pane,
Comes down the snowy path
Or walks up to her dilapidated home
Clad in a beautiful blue,
She wears her hair in golden locks
And yet her bold eyes often wet with dew
Will repress warmth
That longs to shine through.

Still them heartless people sneer,
At her stony gaze
Hers and none others
Why her name sets their eyes ablaze
I can only but wonder.

Often I would see her,
On the busy streets of town
Carrying a brown basket full of red apples,
Probably begging for a crown
She hides her face, brave little girl she is
Thinking that no one can see,
Her desperate tears of agony.
She drifts down the streets.

New that I am to town,
Not once have I failed to see
That she too has a heart,
She wishes all she meets
Very respectfully.

Why doesn’t then god bestow his grace
And free her from all her troubles?
Seeing them ignore and sneer,
My blood simply boils and bubbles.

For I believe I can feel her pain,
When I see her beautiful hand,
Hardened with work
Her hair and clothes wet with rain
Her blue gown soiled in every way possible
And her golden locks straightened out plain.

However she works
However she fairs,
But from her face
It never fades
Oh! Very worthwhile.

What a sad life!
What do you think pulls her through?
A beautiful smile!

Why they despised her
And why she with it bore,
This mystery’s,
I can never reach core.
For, in but a few days
I shall leave this dismal place.

But one lesson, I have learned for life
The little girl on the streets,
Has more reasons than us to grieve.
If she can pull it through, so can we!
We have no time to grieve.
In life walk every mile,
With nothing, but a beautiful smile……

Submitted: Thursday, July 01, 2010

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