The boys in tattered clothes huddle in streets like
bees
So primitive and uncivilized they don't even know
what an iPhone is
Looking famished hands stretched and standing
on their knees
Unfolded palms begging from the men in suits
and ladies in heels
Hoping the heavenly grace may fall on them so
they can find bliss
Their mama at home suckling the young kids
With their dark flopping ******* which produce
milk like beads
The father is dead the uncles are nowhere, who is
responsible for the needs?
So she sends the small boys to the streets where
poverty recedes
They get the few collected coins and buy flour
which their mama make the dough she kneads
These kids with their mama don't know about
education
They never go to school or work so everyday is a
vacation
Bitterness engulfing their lives and can never
avoid depression
****** insanity and malnutrition because of diet
ration
It's miserable to watch such beautiful beings
suffer in frustration
Why can't me and you reach out for them, or all
of us as a nation?