The Waif

By Amlan Roy

He sleeps on the pavement, his only shelter,

It doesn't matter whether it's raining or thundering.

He often finds himself thanking his Creator,

For his small morsel of bread, a divine blessing.

He looks with longing eyes

At those who pass by.

The privileged class clad in expensive garments,

And especially the women showing off their ornaments.

However, he sleeps well at night,

He doesn't lie awake like the rich man in his comfortable bed.

Worries and troubles do not cloud his mind,

A colourless, albeit meaningful life well-led.

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By Amlan Roy