The Odd Child
A POEM…
And if only the child could draw
A line between happiness and pain
To complain of life, he would say
A beggar, his worldly name be spelled.
And he would live every day
To live each day in great distress
But to whom it seemed so routineness
Maybe to live without, it wouldn’t be believed.
And still, a smile would flash so well
As in-betweens, he would play with his friends
But the thought of the work never dimmed
As he would pose again to beg after a laugh with a sad face.
And to feel ashamed never came
For this is how we live, he would to himself say
And besides the duty, a fear ever lived
For being beaten every day, didn’t feel great.
And his own appearance so shabby, even he would detest
For even he adored a hero of his own
And to look like the man in his films, he dreamt
But his cautioning world would all just emerge.
As the little boy in the car, stretched to give an alms
His hand had just touched the odd boy
And he had then wiped the rich kid's hand with his shirt
And as the car had passed, he said, how can I let it pass,
“My Poverty”…
