I was walking on road with focus on my goal,
Halt, a hand caught a firm grip – course like a grain.
Hungry, needy said the stranger, want money but no food.
Stick like a magnet, followed the street, a repulsive figure.
“Take food, but no money”, I quoted. A poor was she, dragged into the streets.
Tall, lean, a bend stick;
Poverty stricken and an unfortunate creature. Jagged skin, rusted hair-washed seldom, garments taters; an odious, unattractive.
Then I looked at her, face burned in sun, smile erased in poverty;
More I looked, saw her eyes, blue were they, like an ocean unfathomable. Her eyes full my dreams endorsed me to search my pocket, I found a five rupee note, her eyes gleamed, and she snatched it at once from a stranger unknown.
All I say, she will forget the cash she got,
But I will remember the eyes she got.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem