By Anika Vashishtha
Leaves crunch under her light frame,
Another autumn invites winter untamed.
A vibrant collection of trinkets in her bale,
How she wishes they were hers and not on sale.
A shop overlooks a street that smiles wry,
but the dancing lights do hypnotise his eyes.
They seem to follow wagons and vehicles passing by,
He longs to ride one sometime.
“Diwali has arrived it seems”,
The garbage gatherer to himself mutters.
His rugged hands continue to scour steel equipment,
The fireworks keep his sadness vividly alive.
She looks at her maa’s glistening countenance,
Her eyes follow her papa’s fists.
She closes her eyes to it,
Not wanting to see what it did.
Boorish minted folk launching to space,
Space tourism, or that’s what they say.
Looking down from their rickety thrones,
throwing the common man into the fray.
Behold the teeming life’s wonder for once,
For it treats fairly none.
They can only close their eyes and pray,
Pray this abhorrent life away.