Selection 6 of
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Hunger on M.G. Roadby Sunita Fernandesin the dappled street corner under the shady spread of the gulmohar tree ablaze with orange-red may blooms, raucous shouting mingles with gay mirth and enchanted squeals from the smallest. street children played. mothers and fathers some, but children all. fighting ferociously, fiercely with smouldering hearts of sulphurous fire. a necessity to see through the day. stay alive through the night without thought for tomorrow. without understanding of hope. a small face. was cherubic then. now dusty, etched and lined with an age of pain. innocence and naivety abandoned. piece of red-brown-now-almost-black cloth makes frail endeavours to cover portions of a slight smelly body. breasts small, like a child's. eyes pranced with every gaze. pride and joy carved deep into pained edges, to soften her face. body droop-sagged forward with the weight of her doll-like baby at her uncovered breast. soft glistening black hair now matted and brown. sucking with bare energy. a thin crooked line of blood creeps slowly around dry-cracked and sore nipples. mother she is, but a child more - at thirteen |
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Author's Note: This poem is based on the anger,
helplessness, frustration and sadness that I feel every time I see the group
of street children that live on M.G Road in Bangalore where I live. There
are no adults, just these children who live together on the street.
S.F. |
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Selection 6 of
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