Never he says, never he complains;
Barefoot he walks down the lane..
Picking up papers,plastics,scraps…
Pick-wick boy he is,who lies in wraps..
Book covers, newspapers he glances through,
Stares at skyrise; tears trickled like morning dew..
Chimney cleaner, bootpolish boy, seems to be happy as they are;
But pick-wick boy is the most rare.
Dream he sees are big and true…
But life gifts him tears sticked like glue..
Nimbles on leftovers,wore torn torrents;
Perplexed he stood,his life was no less than rodents..
What fault lies in? – Why cant i be a normal boy?
Why you deprived me of all the joy?
Books and papers not meant for me…
Slugged poverty has caught my glee;
I cant dream to be the boy I wonder;
I am the poor Pick-wick boy of Gods wonder!!


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