By Kanishka Kataria
Today, I did what a child should,
When gifted something to keep.
However bothered I shall be too deep,
Hugged my mother and smiled.
Through the lenses, not the balloons,
Did I see but the pains carved.
Into the little figures across the road,
Roaming around seamlessly.
Last night, they did not have food,
For their father did not earn as expected.
But, under the shade of a shallow cover, though dejected,
Slept with satisfaction, life meant.
Life meant for them, more than just a cake,
They had enough if fate allows and,
Embrace the delight of well-being, not so grand.
Managed to stay whole and fresh.
Neither were they begging nor stealing,
They stood in their dignity, gracing the elegance.
Whatever, I could not look at them. In arrogance?
With the respect and care they deserve.
All through the night, I thought,
What the reason was for my negligence?
When their faces approached me and hence,
I turned mine away in the pomp of the show.
Oh, was it, their complexion brown?
Well, even I do, on whom they put up a crown.
The birthday girl with piles of makeup,
Threw a piece from her cake in pride.
Oh, was it, their patched frocks and shirts?
Some call it fashion nowadays.
The birthday girl with her dress and sash,
Moved the pathetic children out of her grandeur.
Oh, was it, the language they did not speak?
They did accept their mother tongue as identity.
The birthday girl with her English tone,
Yelled at those kids to show off.
Ah, it definitely was their impression,
That is inherent, innate in our minds.
Subject is that they are outcasts,
Not of a world where we belong.
Uncertain of the story that brought this up,
Did we learn it inside the womb, long before?
Or, was it something that was cognitive?
Certainly, it poses a struggle, real.
Moving out, I might see them enjoy,
The food we left in our parties and
wear the clothes we discarded yesterday.
Is it something we should be proud of?
A birthday, not less than a festival in its extravagance,
Do they also celebrate it? No, that’s their innocence.
They might not even remember the dates,
Why should they, if all it meant was this life of survival?
Maybe I was engrossed in the irrational pleasures,
That was rendered to only us, not them.
Their lives are so simple, playing all day and cheers all over.
Maybe, when they shall add another candle, money shall show the
REALITY. A reality of the rich and poor,
That they say is substantial to mankind.
After all, it is just some candles adding up!