A Street Child

With bodies half-covered, in rags and tatters;
No where to feel snug in the shelter of a home;
With limbs layered by sludge from drains,
Scampers along the street child, bereft and forlorn!
Trampled by trespassers as they would on an orange peel;
The story of his origin, obscured, had he once his kith and kin!
Not a pang in anybody’s heart for letting him struggle thus
The people overlook this urchin, as they would of rotten cabbages on the street!
Grabbing for his empty stomach from the left-overs in the garbage bins;
Shunned, discarded, and with only words of spite and hatred from all!
Early creases on his forehead and cheeks, by­-
Stress, want, struggle and rather, not with age!
Braving the heat, chill and storm but with little gain;
Did he ever know and yearn what a mother’s care and love could be;
Neither a word of praise for his good acts, nor a good scolding for his waywardness.
No one but himself to account for his derelictions of ruin!
Should we condemn the onlookers for this shameful negligence?
Should we complain to the gods for this befallen fate?
Should we curse himself, the love-lorn being, for his smitten state;
Spit on them, fie on them, for peering thus on the half-dead street child!