Little urchins, clad in shabby rags,
Carrying shabbier bags,
Rummage garbage bins
To earn a semblance of a living,
A hand-to-mouth existence;
Fears of the uncertain future
Trouble not their young minds.
Their joy knows no bounds
If they can afford a movie to raptly watch
The hero's rapid rise from rags to riches,
Merging their identity with his,
For a few blissful hours.
Then back to the squalid footpath,
To slumber, lost in luxurious dreams
Of a home, of three square meals, of school….
Until dawn wakes them up rudely
To the reality of ragbags and garbage bins.
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