I find solace in writing
after discerning the ordeals
faced by the slums
loitering roadside
The boy with gnarled leg
seven year old or so
carrying yet another infant
wrapped within rags
His mother, overburdened with
massive weight of slag heap
searching for gold in order to
satisfy her toddlers belly
The malnutrition girl with
hairs, torn around her pallor
supporting her mother
to have 'once a day' meal
The paper seeming boy
with rat's eye
devoid of slippers
and wearing skins
Their future is
painted with fog
overcasted with darkness
and lead sky all around
Their world is rich
in shades of grey
limiting their opportunities
and making them rich men's prey
They are denizens
of street
devoid of drainage, running water
and proper shack to dream
Its pitiful that
nobody cares to feed them
at least once a week
they cannot comfort them
and the paintings
depicting a starving child
are sell
at prices so high
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
India is such a rich nation with it space program but cannot feed the poor. A well written poem that needs to be read by all.