Poetry

Voice of a Waif

As I walk through the street begging,

for a penny to buy a meal, I was pleading.

Children of my age filled in excitement,

were in a festive mood with entertainment.

 

They were dressed in new attires,

teased and stared at me in satire.

One dashed my emaciated body as they ran,

not noticing, with the same desire I was born.

 

I sat on a roadside and began weeping.

Unable to control the surge of feeling.

Why should I suffer when everyone enjoys?

Do I not have the right to joy?

 

Engrossed in merriment are the kids of my age.

Imprisoned I am in a hunger and poverty cage.

Right to fun and happiness I have none.

Left to suffer alone since my parents were gone.

 

To dream of a future like the other kids is futile.

Daily I have to face a situation hostile

Wearing the same rag daily, I travel miles,

suppressing my agony, envying other kids’ smiles

 

~Deepak Raj Chetri

Bhutan

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