Wingword Poetry Prize 2020 is now open. Submit your poems today!

Moon Child

Mother had been picked up 
Again today.
And like everyday,
I fall as a Life's prey.
Drunken men, strange men
They call her :
"Randy"
Mother still goes to them.
I requested her to stay,
Not to go today.
She says she cannot,
And our lives are meant to be fought.
She promises to get bread 
For me and my little brother
Who carries the virus
Mother and he will die.
I cannot understand why.
I never saw my father,
Mother says he too made the offer.
I doubt my brother 
Is also not my own
But we are each other's backbone.
And everyday alone
I sleep under the moon.
The streets have been my womb,
But I will have my own tomb.
I no more want to belong to the street
Dirt not just under my feet.
A home in my head trip,
Destiny must I flip.
And everytime we brothers play
Near the city sand pile,
He utters after a while
"Our sandcastle!" amongst the lilies of nile
I promise him hardwork to end our exile.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This poem won in Instagram Weekly Contest held by @delhipoetryslam on the theme 'Street Kids'

1 comment

  • Analysis level is superb

    Radhika Ranganathan

Leave a comment