The girl of twelve told me,
A different but then the same story,
That boy of four told me,
His idea of what life should be.
But I different from them,
And yet the same.
Couldn't understand that life's game,
Couldn't even spare THEM,
These very newly arrived, happy and eager ones.
Their laughter, giggles and grin,
Their baby souls with hardly a sin,
Would eventually face such challenges,
That even many adults wouldn't.
These were children of another reality.
But these children were just like others,
With conditions laid harshly down on them,
And called to live up to them,
If they could.
The pavement children of India watched,
The world swirl around them.
Yet they were not a part of that motion.
Their own world stood still, every minute and hour.
These children's eyes looked far away,
That was not a child's mode.
These children's eyes looked hungry,
For that food in that beggar's bowl.
I stood next to them,
I sat next to them.
I looked at them.
Then I did not looked at them.
I looked at them.
They looked at me.
Then for that one quantum which seemed an eternity,
My heart's soul shrieked.
Walking away from them,
Never resolving their angst,
Not knowing how to.
I now saw from the
Salty wet curtains of my eyes,
A small boy running to me,
With arms full of garlands and presents.
He with no possessions,
Bestowed gifts on me.
He with no possessions,
Smiled and smiled gleefully.
With the hugs he received at the airport's tarmac,
I turned my back to him to board my plane.
Back to the U.S.,
Never again to be the same.
Then returning a year later with toys,
Candies and smiles for India's children again.
Vera Sidhwa
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/children-on-the-streets-of-india/
