Poor At A Railway Platform
A
Anil Kumar Panda
0
Altın Yaprak
Sitting on a bench
I see them sleeping
On the cold concrete
Of the platforms
Covered with tattered
Blankets I watch them
Shivering in biting cold
The dirt smeared faces
Of the babies are
Hidden in the bosoms
Of famishing mothers
They dream for next days
Alms not silver or gold
Whistle from trains
Wakes them up and
Sometimes they get
Trampled by hurried
Passengers cursing them
For blocking the path
They have been living
Here since years during
Rain, summer and cold
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş