Down the lane away from the river,
The council’s flats and the shouts,
The children don’t know to speak,
In a low voice, as their screams and screech,
Not reached the drums of the powerful,
Aimless life, away from the mainstream flyers,
Hooked, smoked, promiscuous and pregnant,
The undying dreams in their almond eyes,
Being treated as the outcast from their own circle,
The youngsters in many parts of the world,
Have become the recluse, as the loving hands,
They need, may not reach their trembling hearts.
Beside the lane and at the banks of the rivers,
The shack of huts stacked up sideways,
The dirty children and equally unkempt parents,
Quiet as the midnight, not aware of their rights,
Picking up the peanuts from the political landlords,
Hooked, smoked, not promiscuous and not pregnant,
Once In a while the loud whistles from the pressure cooker soul,
Pierce the ears of the people, who dwell in comfort,
Hundreds of eyes peep through the glass windows,
Hundreds of lazy men try to be the well wishing teachers,
The life in the congested ghettos and slums,
Possessed with the spirits of fear and gloom.
Beautiful write. I like the words... Once In a while the loud whistles from the pressure cooker soul, Pierce the ears of the people, who dwell in comfort, Congratulations on completing 1000 poems! Though I have read few of your poems, I liked them.
aimless life is really a good life though we do not admit materially, good write.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Picking up the peanuts from the political landlords Life in ghettos is described with clarity and power of words. Nice poem. Thank you.