Popsicle Poem by Jayita Basak

It was a nippy January,
I went to the Kalpataru fair with my father,
Stalls lined up like bogies and wagons, My father bought me a popsicle.
Suddenly a child ran to the stall seeking for the same,
The seller refused and so the world,
He stared at my popsicle, eyes almost moist,
His rustic hair, darkness, ruined shirt And everything smelled of poverty.
His eyes melted and so my popsicle.
I chinned up and glanced where I was, Impoverishes, beggars, blinds and
The wilted little kids begging around,
Shivering, counting and jingling the coins in that cold.
My father bought him a popsicle,
The little boy guzzled it while staring at me,
My eyes melted and so his popsicle.