I slipped from the Manor's upstairs into the trash bin.
My hair burnt, eyes removed and they amputated my hands.
I stuck in the leftovers, among the stench I cannot see anything
And I write on a broken slate with a piece of chalk which gripped by my right foot's fingers.
Darkness is better than a true vision.
And I think of the new doll who sings well in the upstairs.
I humbly pray for her a long-life in the Mansion.
*[ Australian Man throws the daughter off bridge. A morning News.]
I dedicate this poem to innocent street children where they sleep under the same transparent sky.
May God bless those less fortunate than ourselves, Heaven holds a place for the destitute and the down trodden Love duncan X
A touching piece; all human life has value, yet the actions of mankind undermine the grim realities of life (that's ordained by God) . -Joe
I admire the restraint practiced on such an emotion packed theme. vwery well written.
Your poem shares some of the poignancy of Coppelia. Such a poignant image and such a wonderful dedication - to those children who suffer. This one brought a tear. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
what a wonderfu poem, compassionately dedicated to street chidren. The darkness is better than the vision for them...... very depressing, yet, it's the reality. well done Nimal......
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Children usually love unconditionally even those who mistreat them. A poem that needed to be written. Very compelling. We should certainly pray for street children without regard to race, culture, or creed. Only God knows the extent of their suffering. Kindest regards, Sandra