Nobody's Child
Her chapped palms smell of
-ungrateful jasmine-
roughened by shrewd plays of world.
And in the creases of
- youthful forehead-
sleeps an orphaned childhood, old.
Among distasteful leering,
ineffectual rags of
-modesty cries-
unfortunate beauty trapped among
-lechers-
pawn broker and hawker alike.
-Nobody’s Child -
gazes high UP , at the
S
K
Y
S
C
R
A
P
E
R
S ,
elegant unreachable stairs
winding beyond clouds yonder.
S L O W L Y sighing,
At the dreams hidden, on the dark side of
half bitten moon.
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