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Lorna Lornelia Sep 2016
Imagine waking up on a filthy, uneven floor -
light coming solely through the flimsy wooden wall.

Imagine trudging through the mud barefoot -
mud merged with remnants of God knows who.

Imagine breathing in thick layers of sooty dust -
the colors sullen, lifeless and dull.

Imagine smelling the scent of faeces and decay,
of diseases and of death every single day.

Imagine your belly gurgling with hunger and distraught,
sniffing glue - the only way to delude.

Imagine walking on rickety bridges -
a step amiss and drown you will in these murky watery ditches.

Imagine wearing the same old rags - all tattered and torn,
being beaten and battered, no rights of which to call your own.

Imagine having silly daydreams of going to school
but there's not a penny to spare - not even for a worn-out book.

But alas, imagine no more for such children exist,
with ghosts clouding their starry dreams
And death hanging heavy upon their tiny, little feet.
Aparna Apr 2013
Threaded brows and polished nails,
Pouting lips and ruffled skirts.

Doing it slow, with a Magic Mike look-alike.
Hosting shows for the richest of the slums.

Wearing glittering rocks,  buying Vuittons.
Stolen dollars, well spent before their time inside.
Aparna Jul 2013
Rascals, ruffians and rogues alike.
Slumming the alleys with their slurs,
And sewage rats.

Across the streets, just beyond the performers.
The dames of paradise carrying flowered parasols.
A *****, she is. Stupid Alessandra! one said.

The hooligans hugged each other with glee,
As the women struck each other,
With their spiteful words.

Filthy, is the life of the cleaner souls,
And rich, is the life of the poorest minds.
Alas, the weirdest of them all is God.

— The End —