Little pains

The little leftovers, he nimbled upon

Tiresome was his days, half a roti he harped on…

Long are his searches, but he gathers no moss

Nukkars and gullies he moves in

Pecks for dreams in each dustbins

What he searches?

A li’l bits of papers, coloured boxes, plastics and leftovers

Or the limitless positive hopes?… through each scrapss he hovers

Night falls, he slops down…..

Countless stars a crescent moon; Decent and big is his room

Sacks is his pillow, comfy as cushions

Lullabies are sang by the trains in motion.

There was a fight he remembers

Sulked in his mothers arm, baby he was;

Father perished in the riot leaving the family in deep sombre

A step in this urban city tagged them as ‘Refugee’

Pennyless, moulded in rags they were set free

Roads similar to mezannine, sky are the archdomes,

Scrap sacks are now his dream, Rag-picker his name is Rahim

Many a Rahim lost their childhoods

Durst in cruel fights, innocence lost before rudes

Gliding on skyhighs, we never peep

Basest thing gets ignored, as we love big leaps

Will the  cries of Rahims’  fall mum??

Question a big Question makes me calm….

By : Moumita Dasgupta


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