My eyes pour
out and words all fail,
When I see
the plight of this Indian lot,
Whose day
starts when the world is dreaming,
And ends
long after the sun goes out,
Weak and
dirty they walk the street,
Begging for a coin of life all day,
Searching for
lunch in the trash,
In blind hope
of making some hay,
Pleading outside
the palace of gods,
Hungry,
abused, get chased away,
The god is
bathing in the milk,
Insulting their
hunger, every day,
Days, months
and years roll by,
The world
may change but life is hell,
Outside those
lavish shopping malls,
Standing
wearing a putrid smell,
Comes the
minister, ribbon’s cut,
They sleep
under those bridges high,
Ignored by
the growth we see,
They stand
right in front of our eyes,
And heartless,
cowards we have become,
Flip a coin
and pat our self,
At every
corner life is crying,
But we only
feel sympathy for them.