Whispers From The Edge Poem by ashok jadhav

They walk the streets where none will see,
Their footsteps soft on stone and dust;
The world moves on, indifferent still,
Yet in their hearts there burns a trust.
Their songs are quiet, seldom heard,
A voice that trembles but persists;
Each word a flame against the dark,
Each breath a claim that life exists.
The children play where shadows fall,
Their laughter muted, small, yet clear;
They know the weight of unseen hands,
Yet find the strength to persevere.
The elders speak in hushed refrains,
Of struggles fought and dreams denied;
Their memories hold both pain and pride,
A river flowing deep inside.
Though the world may turn its gaze away,
Their stories wait, like seeds in soil;
And someday rain will wake their voice,
And honor all their patient toil.
For even at the margins lies
A truth the mighty cannot own;
The whispered hearts, the unseen lives,
Are roots from which the world has grown.