A Bowl in my hand
A torn blanket
A packet of wafers ,
The gentleman gave .
Sitting on the road
My home .
Fighting the chilly night
Of December ,
I have not seen
Books , Pens
Mummy , Papa
Home ;
But I am happy ,
Happy for having
My friends , My family ;
They have played
In my arms,
Their puppies too .
When you sit
Packed in your blankets
I have my friends ,
Not void of love
For me .
While the world lies
In
Tensions,betrayals,deception
I have my friends
Away from these vices ,
My lily, my Chotu , my Motu..
NOTE: This picture depicts a homeless young girl (and many like her/him) who has lost her parents or maybe is pushed into the gruesome exploitation of child trafficking which has forced her to beg in the streets. This little work is in lieu of her struggle with her friends( whom I have referred as Lily, Chotu, Motu) the cute little beings (dogs). Here the poet persona is the homeless child.
mahikapant 