Beyond this little bit of space light has claimed,
i hear darkness howl it's commands,
but i ignore, pretend at least
i won't listen to it's songs, with the power of
evil, and it's nine charms
that some times takes the boys and girls
to it's musty corridors.No we don't,
though this failing light can't assure.

I walk with a spring in every step,
in a make believe fashion, absolutely without
any reason,in tatted clothes it's looks awkward,
but that happens to be the birth right of our tribe
in deep dark alleys and dense shanty towns.
some look at me and think it's defiance.Is it?
some answers are not with us.
those who have access never cared to share
Right to information, doesn't work that way.
if you ask, they look daggers,
"What does this street boy want?
why does he read books or  sing songs?
is poetry any good to him?"
Questions.questions...like arrows first
then their eyes get angry, like an addict
with withdrawal symptoms
angry wild  dogs haunts us all over the world
some questions, even if you ask life long
would never get answers.
what to them if you get mad.
"Come sit down here a bit ,you'll be OK"
a grandma or mother, native of a shanty town
whimper, running fingers through hair on my fuming head.

For each springing step,  i have to fight with myself.
before my eyes, the face of the man on creches
who struggle to take even a step forward, dances
and the immobile ones , victims with hands and legs in plaster,
or amputated
boys and girls in dingy children's wards
seeking treatment for a disease called poverty, lying on cold floors
as the beds overflow with patients, medicines non-existent.

I remember the sunken eyes that
look darkly in to bleak future and mumble inanities,
in dreams those eyes get armed and run after me with a cry
i feel my throat go dry,
i want but can't shake off the anguish that has caught
my mind like a mad dog, on a leg.
look at the face of those children, dropped off from school,
and took to bad roads to make a living
for a day or two they can foresee.
who has snatched their books?
the diseased and malnourished,
the poor and the suffering has a case,
but,you and i have little doubt,
no court would take their case,
it didn't happen all these years,in spite of all efforts.
yes, they can seek justice, but who will pay the price,
and will they stand the hassles?There is no quick justice.
poor are equal to ordinary mortals, no special privileges!

Those with,
bad money,
bad memory,
bad eyes
that can't see
tattered lives,
and good enough
not to see
disturbing sights,
swish past
gleefully
through
our high ways,
in their plush
limousines,
that i watch
with a lump
in my throat.
O