Homeless
The chill is here, the sun has set,
the homeless poor begin to fret.
I wonder if I’d survive this night,
if again my loved would meet my sight.
The whole day spent begging here and there,
in a world that little cares.
“No work for you”, is all they said,
looking with disdain at my impaired leg.
Devoid of penny, I began to beg.
Day after day I bow and bend,
for my kith, to whom my qualms are sent.
I brave the sun, the rain and the snow
with a dream in my eyes
that one day into a fine man, my kid shall grow
then in joy and mirth, I shall rise
and speak of the struggle, sitting in my paradise.
For beggars in this pitiless town,
where most look at us in contempt and frown,
getting a penny is a fiendish task
so I beg from dawn to dusk.
A grueling day, my soul seeks rest.
Watch the birds fly back to their nest.
The nest, their home, so warm and dry,
unlike the cold streets where I lie.
The cold bitter wind rips my veins
as I lay tattered in a narrow lane.
The nature blows sans mercy,
harping upon the city’s apathy.
I close my eyes and see the kid and my wife,
the ones to whom I have dedicated my life.
They stay in a hamlet far from here,
staying so far, yet so close and near.
The warm memory even in the cold so vile,
brings on my wretched face, a wide smile.
The warmth of it makes my spirit bold,
serves as a quilt in the bitter cold.
Into the land of sleep I descend,
tomorrow again, I’d beg and send
unto my kid grows and says, “Dad, misery ends!”
~Saurajit Sinha
