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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Rag-picker (Poetic Form :: LaDán ) Initial days of journalism, I got one task to cover the rag-picker's life. Met one boy in street, to learn what's being done. As he talks, felt how life turns so rife. His name was, say Nanku. Let's know strife of life. Knows what to be done. A big bag in hand, no time for fun. For his work carry small knife. Job to collect thrown items during day time. Sell to right person that yields return. But, none of them are involved in crime. He's not alone. Other joins, share what they earn. With money in their pockets, they will cherish food from street vendor, Bathing under tap; nothing hinder, To be ready for next drill. A decade back, Nanku couldn't locate his home police rescued, took him as lost child to the welfare home to stay, no more to roam. One day fled; stating this shyly smiled. ~*~*~*~*~ Reason for my writing…….. (Poetic Form :: Eleventh Power) Since leaving home, he took shelter under skies. Stories of his companion are almost same. Years of hard struggling to survive made him wise. Asked he could have gone to the church with no shame. Nanku raised his head with a frustrated look, whispered not going to church. A lot he prayed. Each time looking at Mother Mary, he shook head, saying reminds mother's image, so fade. The fade memory of his mother, brings tears with no reason. That feeling can't share with peers. Since lost, looking for his mother. No more cheers.
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