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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem