Alone I crossed across the people
Living on periphery of the population core,
Roofing under tin, tarpaulin and even trees,
Along with that Olden-young mother,
Holding the sick baby on her torn lap,
Trying to feed it with her dry breast
Because it is crying due hungry,
Because the coward father
Yet hasn’t woken up from last night drink
Of that money, he snatched from her,
Which she earns everyday by washing and cleaning
That sky-kissing tall building behind which
They are residing under open sky,
Living as a forgotten human slum.
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