Sorrow on our streets! 

Sitting in the corner she gazed at the street 

Her wrinkled face evident of the struggles of her life

Her eyes were dry deep and had lost all their charm which she might have had

Guess the tears made them so 

The torn sari draped her body 

But she wasn’t even bothered about it 

Few passing by gave her a coin or two 

She folded her hands thanking them and giving her blessings 

But what happened to the one who got those blessings on a daily basis 

Her hands tremble as she tries to pick up the coins 

Getting up is a up hill task for her but she somehow manages 

Deserted seems the right word for her but by her owns, that seems too harsh to be true 

No one to talk no one to share she sits there 

Is she counting her days? 

All her struggle all her fights and all her life 

Looks like a failure but then is there any fault of hers in it? 

Living in this progressive world why is such regression so vividly visible 

Aren’t we supposed to be human? 

Thinking all this I walk up to her and give her some money.. 

“God bless you my son” she says in her weak voice 

But what happened to her own I wonder… 

I turn my back and start walking.. Is there something more I could do..

Still in these thoughts I turn around 

The eyes are still the same… The stare is the same

Guess she is waiting for someone.. Death may be!! 



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