[Synopsis: Ever noticed those little girls and boys by the roadside? They might not have eaten from last night yet they seem so care free. In this poem I just cant help wondering what are they made of! What keeps them alive and kicking or for that matter what hopes they sustain! ]
The Illusionist
Of our world she knew so immensely less
Yet those eyes strived, none tactless
Besides her hurried a traffic and its populace
No care for them in her did ever surface
A tangled mass her hair, all battered
Those rags her outfit, old and tattered
An enigma that hunger is none could reject
Outwits attempts to emulate her misery abject
Tiny fingers clasped tight in the sweat of the sun
A little something, remnants of the last luncheon
With better things to worry, undaunted and at peace
To see better days any living moments she did seize
Quick were her steps, as so to chase a wild dream
In those sparkling eyes, innocent hopes did still beam
Dearth with riches, for God is a perfectionist
Calm was her smile, for she is an illusionist!
No comments:
Post a Comment