Wednesday 11 March 2015

Rag Pickers











On the verge, near the drain
Sunken eyes was on the lane,
With hustle and bustle all they came 
In the morning and in the rain.

With empty sacks to fulfill
With that material not remain,
Full of specks, sour, odour, were came
That they take with a hearty breeze.

You and I can't stand there,
Where they live and collect bare.
At early hours birds start to twirl,
And they gone for their food.

With naked finger they put in the garbage,
And roll inside for the search,
Some materials to fulfill
Gruelling they gather in the garbage.

Sometime in the drain,
Their toil goes in vain.
And as like sane,
They search again and again.

Sometime they injured,
With the sharp,
Without caring the drops of red
Still there were smile on their face.

Not fear, and not fade,
Tied with plastic bandage.
Which lay inside the garbage.
Without fear of infection, they hided.

The sun wants to shine, in the verge
But for them there is no sky,
Why? Why? Why?
Tell me why?







3D

Still an idea, yet to be penned!!!!!!!!!!!!