Scent of democracy! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
A homeless woman squatted on the pavement
Empty bottle of mineral water by her side.
It was a hot summer noon …the stench
Of poverty makes me ashamed as I ride,
The swanky metro. Brooding… get off at my station,
Impatiently, walk as the street urchins extend hands to beg,
For money, for food; wonder should I buy rations
With dismay, saw one was hopping, had only one leg.
Anger welled up against the mafia that maims these kids,
And trains them in art of begging, recognise the victims.
The so called slum dogs, with resignation and grit
Grow into petty thieves or whores, at the mercy of pimps.
The dance of Democracy reaches a crescendo.
Candidates come with promises and folded hands.
Smouldering eyes, one asked with bravado,
How come in the name of growth we see a helipad?
Young nation, been six decades, since independent,
Learnt, after Kosi floods, kids sold for pennies by parents.
Common man’s plight worse than that of pigs and insects.
Live on hope and prayers, a great leader will finally resurrect…
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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