Saturday, June 4, 2011

Poem 151 - Cries for being alive

He was young of age, I think about eight
Though he had only mother, he thought life was great.
One day his mother fell ill, and there was no money
To get medicines, he found small jobs, for him life wasn't funny

Because he couldn't buy medicines, his mother died
Weeks turned to months, but he cried and cried
No money, No food, and now he had to pay the tax
No electricity, he was using candles and wax

House gone, street- a cold new house, to stay
For him to go anywhere, there was no way
Crying for being alive, was the eight boy's cry
Like his mother and father, why couldn't he die?
-Gaurang Rao


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