by Srishti Birla
Rags, clothes and dirty dishes
a tiny heart, waiting for just three wishes.
Sand, pebbles and sticks are his best friends,
unaware of the modern world’s trends.
His tiny dirty hands
unclaimed by watches and wrist bands
broken toys, headless dolls
drowned in a mother’s unheard calls.
Carrying bags of weight around
sweating, playing and sleeping on the same ground.
Bent, malnutrition-ed, burned and lost,
paying his childhood’s cost.
Walking barefoot on this heated earth,
food and water, a capitol dearth.
Slaves of their own birth,
lost calls and unsaid worth.