Poverty sunken stars failed to twinkle in the eyes.
About to dip from the sky and fall in the ocean wide.
After diving deep into the garbage,
Pearls he couldn’t bargain,
To feed his ever hungry pouch,
All he got was the half rotten cake,
Which he had closed in his fists.
Perhaps he took a bite and spared it for the next day.
Now its remnants were taken over by the ants.
Perhaps he had grabbed it from the ant’s mouth.

His flesh had shrunk to the bones.
The blood stopped oozing from the fissures.
Often he was found loitering near the garbage,
Waiting to pounce on the leftovers.
Was he an orphan, least not by the birth,
While somewhere his brain wires,
Were incompatible with each other.

He slept in the bed of granules,
Viewing the canopy of twinkling stars,
Yet he failed to lit his own life.
Today he shut his eyes off from the world.
Now the tiny ants strolling in and out his ears.
The flies were relishing his cold parched blood.
While crows gathered around the garbage
Thereby conducting the autopsy of an opened flesh.

Today is the ant’s celebration day.
Enjoying the big feast along with rats and insects.
Seeds of poverty were sown since long,
Today also it thrives in our soil.
Will it ever be swept from our lives?

© Geetha Jayakumar. All Rights Reserved (Published).