She stood hiding behind the platform bench,
And the hunger in her eyes ceased to quench.
Her silver anklets did some music to her reduced hip,
As her little tanned feet strode every mighty step!
Her cheeks were parched and eyes sad,
Dense, arched eyebrows I saw she had,
That met at the center of her forehead.
And she followed every word her mother said.
‘Insha’ a baby of roughly three years,
Before she could stand steady or speak clear.
Had to grasp the tricks of begging for aid
As her mother pushed her onto every woman, every maid!
She tugged at my bag and let out her tiny palm,
Stared straight into my eyes with no fear, no qualm.
Her silver nose-ring glistened in the sun
Her deep eyes telling a story with no cheer, no fun!
A white rash outlined her pink moist lips
Her gaze twinkled a spirit that never wanted to dip.
And when I dug into my bag and pulled out a protein bar,
A bright smile I saw that hid every facial scar...
I unwrapped the snack to fit into her fist,
And she grabbed it with both hands, not moving her wrist.
I watched as she hopped towards her mother
Her joy I could feel in the moment, not looking further.
She looked back at me with a shy glance
As dimples faded into her cheeks, not missing a chance.
To the twinkle in her eye, I smiled my best...
As the little child clung to her mother’s breast!
Her mother carried her to the other side of the railway platform,
‘Insha’ once again opened her lil palm and followed the norm.
I gazed at the fate of the child; helpless and sad...
One of those miserable experiences i must have had.
As I write this, my heart reaches out to every street child,
Who have seen no home and no instance mild...
Who are born onto the streets, all blood and raw,
O’great Lord, unto the unfortunate child, a Prayer i vow...
