The Tale of a Little Boy

This poem addresses the social evil of Child Labor in my country, India.

You can see his flesh through the gapes of his shirt,

The cracks in his feet tell you the tales of his broken childhood,

You can see the dirt-laden hands probably telling you the churnings of his empty stomach.

 

He is twelve or maybe thirteen,

But the only reminder of his age,

Is his half lost physical state.

 

The toys are replaced by dirty dishes,

The piggy bank dreams with a few coins clanging in his half torn pockets,

The baby fat with the roughly toned muscles.

 

You can hear screams from his sinew,

As he lies down under a car, on the heated sweltering road,

Fixing bolts and screws.

 

You can see the death of his dreams,

As he douses his hands,

In the can of the black slimy grease.

 

The desire, to hold a bat, spin a ball and land,

Giving a kick to the football,

Either brushing against the green wet grass or the coarse dry sand.

 

Or, to dance and sing,

Even when everything around him is,

Numb and still.

 

To eat without the thought of hunger,

To drink without the thought of thirst,

To buy without the thought of a sleepless night.

Alas! It all ends in dismay,

At reality’s first sight.

 

The dreams shatter into a million pieces,

All painted in black and white.

 

You can see him,

He is around you,

He is everywhere.

 

His freedom is phantasmal.

His friends a chimera.

His childhood a delusion.

His life a lie.

Reviews

[Raylene]

You have Amazing talent her I love the imagery and the structure is great I must say great work

[S]

Dear Raylene, that genuinely means a lot. Thanks a ton!

[Raylene]

Anytime my dear