Poverty

By Simran Thakur

Gleaming little eyes,

standing outside the expensive door.

Looking towards the toys,

having no courage to enter the shop.

Rich enters one by one,

but the kid is scared when other stares.

Wearing half torn, dirty, faded clothes on the body,

continuously looking at that teddy.

He desires to play if anyone allows him.

The crowd scolds him; the watchman uses a stick.

Little boy, at that place,

experiences helplessness of poverty.

Kid runs from there

and enters his home.

The place is stinky

the room is small.

The roof is of broken tins

walls are of no-cement bricks.

A little space at the corner

where to prepare food for the family.

In a slum area, he lives,

there all desires are born to kill.

A little boy deserves happiness,

but poverty comes into his destiny.

Mother come after work as a labour.

Starting cooking food for her children

puts some woods in a gas fire.

Few seconds and smoke spread everywhere;

eyes swollen, creating suffocation.

Innocent boy requests for the toy,

She angrily replies, "We are poor

how can you see the dream of a bear?"

We can't fulfil your wishes

our count comes "below the poverty line."

His last hope is the father.

A thin man looking tired from all-day work;

Whose hands seem burned, feet peeled,

working in a factory at both shifts.

Suddenly shouts at his son

the "incapacity," "poverty," "weakness,"

are the reasons.

Family head tries a better life for children,

But, what can he do

If every drop of pond evaporates in inflation.

Precious diamonds come in sadness

one more wish remained left.

The day comes to an end, and

he goes to play with friends.

With them, he forgets everything

like he neither desired a teddy nor anything else.

All littles, playing at the slum,

enjoying moments, having fun.

Happy, energetic faces busy celebrating the joy

nobody can say how empty their life is.

They all beautify the surrounding; with their smile.

By Simran Thakur