On-The-Streets
Born in black
I squeezed for the white milk
From an unknown Breast
On the streets
I was a month old as a feast (0-1)
I balanced my feat
Raised my hands for a treat
But nobody was there
To give me a warm great
She left me alone
With my future on the streets
But three year old that was least (1-3)
Streets took me to seek
To play hide and seek
I found some nomads
To roll down the tire on the streets
In the circus was the food as a fees
And for the people age six was sweet (3-6)
Cool breeze chilled our finger
White fog took shelter in the winter Some
where our teared cloths trendy in summer
Become the first door to enter
We shivered on the streets
To stick to each other was least
Any how we have to pass the time
Because morning is going to gift us a warm shine
But we will find a place
Were we will beg for a sake Can get some coins with woolen
From the rich people who prays in heaven And I will sleep with the age of nine
On the streets as lion (6-9)
Run run common fast on the streets
Said an ugly face to mugly face
Huge traffic is there to knock the door
Where I raised the voice as headline as a choice
If u need to know come and grab the voice
Mesmerizing to the god in each festive size
Something should happen somewhere
As I need to sell info with gear
So that at least today we can fulfill our hunger
As this age of eleven is not a big wonder (9-11)
Someone on the streets
Said we need to be protected For the future of east
They took us to orphanage WhSere everything was fine
With a show peace and a show time
Someone on the streets
Said we need to be protected more
For the future of east
So they took us to home
Were emotion was the trade mark
How much work we have to do
In the absence of the lady
Was a big question mark?
As the real blood went to school
And we were left in the kitchens
Where broom act as a hunter
In each summer and winter
Blood shreds from the sky
Where each corner tells me to cry
For god sake I need my streets again
To hug my mother for a rain
As this age of fourteen
Is giving me unbearable pain
I need my streets again
I need my streets again
On the streets again……haaaa (11-14)
Poetry is music a rhythm so read it lovely and smoothly
Hari Das