Mean nothing,
Of everything
Own nothing,
But live like a king
Of his own lung
Life without meaning
Streets surrender
To wipe his hunger
Bare terrain his lap
To welcome the sleep
There I see
Those laid back lives
It’s not
That they are relaxed
Inability and fate
Tuned them to be
The Merciful could
Mold a butterfly
From a caterpillar
But not anyone
To transform
These survivors
Of lust filled souls
Evolving as a question
Suddenly in a street
Turn an amusement
To the first passerby
A topic to talk and
Share incidents similar
Oh! Cruel Commander
Why did you not
Give them a fear
Of my entry here
So that they not dare
One among them
Is definitely my mother
And another my father
But it’s too late now
Even if you realize
Live with this guilt
Until you are buried
One day below my lap
*Dedicated to those unfortunate children on the occasion of "World Poetry Day" - with the hope that this poem brings realization to at least a few.
