Tree Cry

The soft, and cool breeze passes,

Where I am and my companion belongs.

Save from scorching sun and dust,

Along with my kith and kin.

Give you fresh atmosphere,

We accumulate, all the odds of yours.

Give you shade, and shelter.

Our greenish is your life.

When you are alone,

Sit beneath us.

We give you company,

Without disturbing and whispering.

In the winter, chilly cold

At that time you hold.

Our precious parts, feel you warmth

We behold, and become coal.

We never occur a single word,

Masses and masses,

Make us hurt,

Then also We keep mum.

My community is at stake,

You are taking ours’ life.

For making yours’ life bright,

In which megalomania, you are!

If We will finish,

Then can you survive.

Our pain, you can’t see

There is bleed,

When your weapon’s struck us,

When we see our family in pain,

Then all sing chorus cry,

But that cry can’t hear

That bleed can’t see

But that pain can’t feel.

Is doesn’t mean

That We are not a being,

We are not a being.

 

Mother at McLeodganj

Under the age of eighteen,
Eight months on the back.
Tight  with the lace,
Not Kangaroo pouch.
But looks it must be.

Her body other parts
Revolves very fast.
In every direction,
Not taking single second
To sit and stare.

Almond's shape eyes,
Dry as raisin.
Leg and hand,
Looks as like sand,
As bone peeps with green vein.

Appear apparels covers,
The other body parts,
But the chilly cold surpass.
But the numb hand continue,
Erect without any rest.

Fingers of leg shrunk,
As like crab,
But she still in position.
In the open firmament,
No fear of season sheer.

There is agony of pain,
In which she burn and run,
But who cares in this world.
Where we only stand and stare,
And then forget, who cares, who cares
And be unaware.

Slice of Life

Surrounded by the luxurious,
Ample affluents of classes,
Inside in the edge a small Ones,
Malnutrition, unemployed, illiterate and ill-fated,
Masses lives but always ill at ease.
Bread without butter, Rice without pulse
Veggie Slightly seen.
Milk never desire to drink,
Discarded items daily delighted,
But that are needed for the nerves
For melting muscles Sunken eyes
Several an hours stopped Stomach,
Forces to serve.
Tattered apparels dirt full of unseen germs
Cracked Swollen feet inside the plastic sheets,
Mist of black blanket covered undesire soul
Oh! Poor little ones, no one to hold,
Life may be glitter like gold.
When they try to behold
Alas! they stretch continuous,
inside the deeper hole
We behold, they always behold,
But no eyes goes on the poor soul.
Anameic tender faces want light,
But in tender hands,
Broom and water pipe is common sight,
For blooming of greenish odours,
Who care for dull roots hands?
Which yet not know,
Where fate stand?
Their fate of future drying up,
The hands which have to books and bags
But why they care of that.
The body full of fats,
In gloom linear leg,
Wash their path, that looks always
Fresh, not a single part of mess.
What is snacks and what is meal?
For them the slice make them to survive,
Are they always born for slave
Older, younger tender age?
Why we not stop the tender hands,
That their life don't become the sand.
Planting and watering their future
Behold them and Bring the beauty
Nurturing these tenders behold
them and
Think for a while,Why we not save their life.
From deeper ditch inside
And bring smile
          and bring smile.

Hands

Who endeavour to see sweat?

The sweat which they,

Shallow in the day light,

And in the night dream.

Who’s eyes spark?

On their beneath breathe,

The metallic mind,

Which shattered by the shadow of own.

Work day work night,

But what they find,

The dim dazzle,

In their shelter.

Accumulation of their

Spend in an hour

Cry in the wilderness

When Children in pain

Let’s you and I,

Stand for them,

For metamorphosis,

Their life from Perdition to Paradise

Hell for leather,

For their welfare

You and I,

You and I.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!