Shoes

By Shweta Prasad

Gleaming on the sidewalk,

As black as coal,

indeed a sight,

that held my eyes as,

I wondered, across the street.

I saw-

Pale fingers with stubborn stains running over.

There sat a young lad.

His tattered schmatte and shabby hair,

said the story of his slum.

I saw-

The zest that lit his little eyes,

adorning his rags.

Alas, this blithesome lad!

I wondered, across the street.

When they played with a toy,

he played with a shoe.

On his stained palm,

fell clinking coins

as those shoes deserted him,

as bright as a new penny.

Counting them,

He smiled.

I walked by his side,

I saw-

that schmatte of his,

the smile that twinkled his tiny cheeks.

Except,

those walking sticks by his side.

He had no legs,

To grace with shoes.

He smiled at me with zest,

that lit his little eyes.

That day,

He taught me to smile amidst all sorrows.

By Shweta Prasad