These rag-pickers
With tattered clothes,
Disheveled hair,
And whose bodies
Never underwent
The ritual bath
Except by the monsoon rains,
Collect crushed plastic cups
And bottles
Strewn along the railway tracks
For a living.
How long will they
Continue to live like that? '
Nobody knows.
Perhaps, until the parallel
Rail lines meet one day,
They will go on.
