Dream of Weeds

Often I mark little, untidy children in groups scrounging for something in the garbage piled up on the other side of road, A cluster of barefoot early birds roaming all day here and there searching for gold in garbage yards. You may even find them at traffic junction selling flowers or newspapers. Though the sky seems clear, still their days are locked in dark and gloom. Vicious circle of poverty and tragedy surrounds them in fog and endless nights. Only a few are able to fuel their dream, or else rest are long lost in the trial of time. Dreams of happiness always remain a dream for them, considered as weeds they accept their fate. No one cares for them, no one even pays a heed to them. The baggage of restrictions imposed by society often kills the soft heart within them wanting to smile. But here lies the question, ‘‘Are they really the weeds obstructing the development of society?’’ or else ‘‘it is our way of thinking that obstructs their path to rise.’’