POVERTY

Empty stomach, a few dimes and ripped shirt

That’s how he leaves his trail.

Nothing is unusual for him

This day or any other days.

Blazing sun, gusty wind or heavy rain

He retorts it all with a smile.

Garbage cans his customers

He has to meet them as litter piles up.

He is a busy lad, got no free time,

To look at his smelly hands or nails.

Sometimes they are touched by germs

He calls them dear buddies.

The hunger pain was the only one he felt for

These days his power overcame that too.

His sack serves as night jacket

And when lucky, he gets unfinished pizzas.

“Voila! My meal is served”, he says;

Takes a moment to thank the one above.

His darkened skin and calloused hands;

Signs of his endless efforts.

And when dusk hits land

He’s all set for a nap.

He’s innocent not knowing

Selfishness, cruelty, jealousy.

The colors of real world never really touched him

For he is embracing the nothingness of life.

In definition you may be rich and he’s poor

But the real rich one in heart is him.

He who has nothing and still happy.

For him, poverty is an art!

Dr. Alka Ram