Destitute
Clad in a white cloth and jacket
Spotless clean, wonder what magic she does
To keep so clean,
In a cluttered Pavement.
Wrinkled face elegantly attired with a smile
Eyes rise up to every passer by
Pleading but no cry uttered
Need not waste her words, as
Her stare is loud and clear
For many ears to stop by
Who can disregard her eyes that talk?
Mother, haven’t you had any one to call you “Love”?
Or you haven’t called any one “My love”?
Copyright © Manel Gunatillake | Year Posted 2013
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