I was running for race of life
to prove, my life is not futile
to shoulder my responsibilities
for the sake of world
to adjourn myself from the strepent life
suddenly I stumbled with a little flower
And I caught the little flower
with my hand to save her life
But I am badly injured
seeing the little flower
my heart is still bleeding
to gaze the drops of toil
on her forehead
spreading her little hands
only for few coins
Hardly she would have seen
three springs in her life
her first spring might have been spent
in her mother's lap
during her second spring
she might have seen like her mother
begging on the road
third spring has compelled her
to beg on the road
Her little drops of toil has made her
so stiff that injured me forever
no ointment do I find
to heal up my wounds
what should I say to this world
Is it gift or curse to this world?
You have very nicely described your feelings on a baby begger. I can imagine the feelings of the injured Poet by the baby beggar. Especially the last line Is it gift or curse to this world? has touched me. A great Poem.
I don't like commenting on poems, but this one is one in a life time. Great work keep it coming.
You paint a picture of reality my friend. I have seen this in Sri Lanka. Many years ago and it came as great shock to a young man who had never seen such poverty in england
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
usage of ointment...3 springs....wow...i liked it....grt poem....and an apt title too....