The rags picker boy.

The rags picker boy.

I saw a boy of twelve or thirteen,
picking up rags from the dumps.
He was scerching among the dirts
as if scrounging some gold coins.

I came to know,
he was living in a slum.
Where light peeped hardly,
in the damp room.

He had lost his spring time.
Neither sun nor night sky was his friend.
He found the world as fiend.

When boys of his age went to school,
with satchels on their backs.
He took his own burden
and picked up rags.

When in the afternoon,
other boys ran under the faded sun.
His fatigued body moved slowly to his den.

At night when the boys slept,
in their mothers laps with sweet dreams.
He spent sleepless night with open eyes.