A day at a time…

one’s trash is another’s treasure-

look at those kids in rags,

barely aged 5, 8, and 10,

scrounging through the garbage heaps,

picking up the shiny objects

a broken toy or a tattered vest,

looking for that copper coin,

another to join, in their tiny collection,

to be spent for a night’s sustenance,

bare feet, they traverse through alleys,

and streets and the crowded markets,

waiting for someone to drop a pence,

or may be a note of 10,

“Yay!”- a thing of wonder for them,

how pitiless I appear, when I think of them,

while sipping through a long glass,

of orange juice, the color of their burnt skin,

they earned through their daily ritual,

through (un)familiar ways of reality,

working towards a way, to survive,

a day at a time

.

Such conflicting emotions make their way into the coils of mind whenever I see the rag-pickers. I do not want to pity, neither do I want to ignore… somehow, I end up not thinking at all.

Written in consideration of Poetry Jam.

Photo source

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