#childlabour - Hello Poetry

How does it feel like when you carry a bag full of books? I hope that it doesn't feel like a burden as it looks, I wish to study just like you, scampering towards the school before the first bell in a crew, But you know what I do? infront of your school I sit and polish your shoe!

0

Jan 25, 2015

Jan 25, 2015 at 2:09 AM UTC

Guledawoodi

I Am A Shoe Polisher

How does it feel like when you carry a bag full of books? I hope that it doesn't feel like a burden as it looks, I wish to study just like you, scampering towards the school before the first bell in a crew, But you know what I do? infront of your school I sit and polish your shoe!

7

*She came and she went. Like all others did... With a smile so beautiful and deep. A God's child she was, Gleaming with joy and beauty. Sparkling eyes and tousled hair, A girl of eleven or twelve... Touched the heart so beautifully. I stared at her and felt my smile return. She peeped into my car window And looked deep into my eyes. She made me see through her, An innocent face and naughty eyes. I tossed a coin at her and she returned a smile. I gazed at her for a moment and watched her say goodbye. Then she ran along with her playmates... Lighting every corner of the streets. I smiled at her dissapearing figure as long as I could.... But soon the road was left far behind. My mind kept wondering.... Will she always be the girl of the street? Will she too follow her destiny alone? Then I became busy... And left the girl behind again... Afterall who cares for a girl of the street....*

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Apr 29, 2014

Apr 29, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC

mrx

The Girl of the Street

*She came and she went. Like all others did... With a smile so beautiful and deep. A God's child she was, Gleaming with joy and beauty. Sparkling eyes and tousled hair, A girl of eleven or twelve... Touched the heart so beautifully. I stared at her and felt my smile return. She peeped into my car window And looked deep into my eyes. She made me see through her, An innocent face and naughty eyes. I tossed a coin at her and she returned a smile. I gazed at her for a moment and watched her say goodbye. Then she ran along with her playmates... Lighting every corner of the streets. I smiled at her dissapearing figure as long as I could.... But soon the road was left far behind. My mind kept wondering.... Will she always be the girl of the street? Will she too follow her destiny alone? Then I became busy... And left the girl behind again... Afterall who cares for a girl of the street....*

25

Have all the school buildings collapsed in an earthquake? Has someone stolen all the footballs and cricket bats? Have the backyards and playgrounds disappeared suddenly? Has anyone put all the storybooks to fire? Has some evil spirit cursed the joy of childhood? If nothing of this sort has happened Then why is that eight years old kid washing glasses at the tea stall?

0

Apr 2, 2018

Apr 2, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC

Meera

Lost childhood

Have all the school buildings collapsed in an earthquake? Has someone stolen all the footballs and cricket bats? Have the backyards and playgrounds disappeared suddenly? Has anyone put all the storybooks to fire? Has some evil spirit cursed the joy of childhood? If nothing of this sort has happened Then why is that eight years old kid washing glasses at the tea stall?

7

Peanut butter, window shutters flutter. Yellow sunbeams, dusty TV, and apathy. I lick the sweet labor—blistered hands and twelve-hour shifts—and I swallow, add some jam and strawberries. Far away, exploited kids and I don't give a **** I want peanut butter, pleasure, and suffering plantations salty with sweat and skinny families. I want viscous apathy, yellow tragedy: a burnt PB and J offering.

0

Mar 17, 2025

Mar 17, 2025 at 4:45 AM UTC

fish-sama

Peanut butter

Peanut butter, window shutters flutter. Yellow sunbeams, dusty TV, and apathy. I lick the sweet labor—blistered hands and twelve-hour shifts—and I swallow, add some jam and strawberries. Far away, exploited kids and I don't give a **** I want peanut butter, pleasure, and suffering plantations salty with sweat and skinny families. I want viscous apathy, yellow tragedy: a burnt PB and J offering.

12