The Poor Face

Thursday, September 15, 2011

We can only cry and think about 'em,
But it's hard to help 'em,
Of course, we are brighter lights,
But they are fuses under our heights,
Yeah, that dirt appearence and shit like a eye,
It's a bitter truth, we can't defy,
Beneath the bridges, behind the societies,
Those half-naked bodies are themself colonies,
A begger type street cleaner worked all day,
It's something I have to say,
He walked, cleaned every dirt and dust,
Several miles in a heavy lust,
And what he got was a mere ten,
On his way he found a li'l working pen,
He picked it up, scrutinized carefully,
I don't know why he smiled gently,
As if he got a diamond ring or what,
Or must be some bigger thought,
He went home and called his Ben,
Hey boy! I have a gift for you, a pen,
The boy jumped off from joy,
As if he got his favourite toy,
It was the same pen WE threw,
Hesitating at it's look, we said eww,
But it matters to some,
As something is better than none,
But why those poors don't have same choices,
No joys, no rejoices,
So this is a call from me in the eternity,
Feed poor, Stop poverty!
                                                                                      - Vaibhav Varun

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