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