The homeless

Returning from my routine shopping,

I see a little girl on the footpath,

holding out a tin can, half-broken, half-rusted,

expecting the tinkle of a coin or two,

from kindly passers-by,...

She looks piteously at me,

with a face drained of joy,

with wide expressionless eyes,

sunken with the sadness of life....

She scrounges for money in the garbage,

with her skinny hands digging into the slag,

A coin lights up her little face,

while nothingness seems to crush her hopes...

She begs for survival,

to keep the flame of life within her, burning...

She runs around, from here to there,

as long as her legs can carry...

She has lost the playful look on her tiny face,

that a child must have,

thinking of nothing else but survival...

Deprived of education, burdened by poverty, she lives on...

not knowing the loss of childhood..

She lacks a roof over her head,

spending her nights on footpaths or garbage dumps...

She appeals to the callous society

and those belonging to the elite clan,

for an identity, for a decent life,

fighting for her rights, for she too is a human..

Nevertheless, she sleeps peacefully on footpaths,

that is her home,

with her only prized possession,her tin can

tucked away safely under her arms, within her rags....