A LITTLE PAUPER CHILD

He is a little pauper

Short, skinny and pale

Collar bones abnormally out,

Ribs seen through the dark skin.

Clothed in rugs and barefooted

He has his hair long, untidy, dry.

His eyes, sore with tears

Seek solutions to his miseries

His tale, a portrayal of his innocence

On every doorstep, he calls

With a hope to get something good,

With a strong desire to live

In this false, inhuman world

Of heartless, powerful people

It isn’t that he’s just refused

He’s made fun of, rather abused

Yet, he’s sober. He can’t fight back

Self-respect he’s supposed to lack

Can’t hum with the wind

To the warmth of sunshine, he’s blind

He knows the world as it is.

Every new dawn,

A struggle to keep his soul alive

But still, in his heart

He has a longing,

A longing to live…

Roaming about on the streets

From dawn to dusk,

He gets a chance to remain alive;

Silver coins from pockets

Of a few good hearted fellows

Fill his little bowl—

The only source of his meagre income.

Thus, this child fills his paunch

Keeping himself partly covered,

Shivering and shivering.

Sometimes little tears

From the corner of his eyes

Falls on his ‘vessel of hope’,

When the day’s bad

And the basin remains empty.

That night, he stays hungry

Empty stomach aching.

Such are his days

When people on earth

Are also dwelling in castles and palaces.

His roof is the zenith high,

And music is the zephyr…

Stars accompany him at night,

And the moon gives him some light.

"Honesty won't get you anywhere;sell it
For the want of bread, be one with the crowd
Bleed for your sake; for those who have ample
All they know and seek is to trample", he's told

No one questions him his origin, which

He himself doesn’t know,

And do not even like to know!

Realizing the futility of his existence

With an empty bowl as the sole comrade

He strides on, for his journey has just begun

With every rising sun!

-----Tezaswita & Bhaskar