By: C.P. Singh, Editor-ICN Group
Roaming on the streets, every dawn,
Keenly looking every side or brawn.
Be it any season to their own con,
Carrying one gunny bag on physical gown.
Lifting every debris of any use- re use,
Keeping in bag to sell it, for few coins.
How much dirty and infected is truce,
Is not even in their thinking – brines.
One small stick, with a hook on it’s tip,
To stir, shake and pick from the garbage.
They do consider it as a required grip,
Being helpful in stray –dogs’ – damage.
They pick all from pre – dawn to noon,
Facing all looming – dangers to child hood.
Fetching it to their hutments as day’s boon,
Being essential for them to arrange food.
They engage, mingle and strive so hard,
In their immature- tender phase of age.
Dealing with trivia of trash and discards,
Not even thinking of their life’s next stage.
As and as the morning –splurge matures,
Exposed are their- tatters and unclean faces.
They are neither having urges nor lures,
Unaware of even their true beings and races.
Seeing school bound children of their age,
In uniforms with book -bags on all backs.
Get allured to be in such groups and stage,
But helpless even to think, what they lack.
