By RK Lakhi Kant
I keep seeing Ravi and his brother,
Not ten yet but already into life’s difficulties;
Many a times I have seen the duo,
Polythene sacks slung across their shoulders,
Braving life’s injustice, looking for recyclable waste.
In their innocent childhood, they feel robbed;
The urgency for work which can feed them is constant,
Interspersed with play on the dusty village road,
In which hours they look like ordinary kids;
They know the difficulties of being a poor parents’ children.
Ravi is a no-nonsense kind of person;
His brother, younger to him, seems safe with him;
These sights hurt; why has New Delhi suddenly become like this;
Most days I walk out I invariably meet boys and girls of their age,
Sachets slung, looking for bottles, reusable plastic, paper and iron.
Dependable persons, get these kids out of this trade;
Sitting at your computer trying to take the country ahead,
Won’t you spare a few hours to rectify this maladjustment at
The lower end of the society; a city which boasts fine intellect,
Would not be at a loss to treat well these child countrymen.