An afterthought, a pause
God’s own creation; the innocent children
Are they happy all around?
What is the number?
Millions, billions all over the world
Countless is the true story.
All those clusters on road side
Park, unused pipes or abandoned places
Unwanted, teased and abused.
In torn dresses, dirty faces
If he or she ask or strive for better
The answer is plain and simple.
Not for everyone- as they say
Life dependant solely on mercy or charity
No one to look after the well-being.
You hear, listen yet pass on without
Looking at the hungry eyes
Think of someone to come and rescue them
Not you or your good self.
A flower to blossom, to play
With tiny butterflies or honey bees
Left uncared and withered in a corner.
Gopal Lahiri
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