Being A Rag Picker Poem by gautam sharma

On the periphery of the city,
After many boundaries,
After many drains,
After many piles of garbage,
Comes my abode.
I curse the day I was born into this world,
Born to add another poor in the BPL list,
Born to do meager jobs,
Born to face the ill times,
And born to survive in this cruel world.
With a sack on my back,
I wander in the streets,
Searching for poly bags and plastic bottles,
To get them valued in the local dumping site,
To earn some pennies.
When I roam in the alleys,
Dogs bark at me,
People put hands on their noses,
Some even cursing,
Is there no one who can help me?
My work begins from the first ray of light,
It goes on in the noon,
Continues in the evening,
Carries on in the night,
And finally another day starts.
Another day of abuses,
Another day of searching junk,
Another day of escaping dogs,
And another brutal day in this evil world.
But who am I?
I am a rag picker,
One of those whom we see in streets,
Homeless, futureless, helpless,
Searching for someone who can listen to my silent screams,
Looking for someone who can soothe my pain,
And finding someone who can take care of me,
Are you the one?



Copyright Reserved 2009.GAUTAM SHARMA