Disparities
A shabby-clothed, bare-footed,
languid, poor, little boy of Nine,
or Ten, begs on the railway platform
for the hand to help him lift
the sack, weighing, I suppose,
not less than Twenty kgs.
Upon being favoured, he runs
up the FOB, the sack on his head,
out for working.
I recall the other boy, of the same age,
studying in Convent, going places
by cars, exuberantly attired.
And just then, thousands of rich
and poor boys, I see, standing before me,
side-by-side.
And tears shine in my eyes; for
I am ashamed of being human.