PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Smog filled air.. early morning of November

Chotu fanning the earthen coal oven

He is only ten shortly going to be eleven

Abandoned by his parents only months after his birth

He doesn't know happiness, harmony or mirth

One of the few thousand familiar faces

His Master often his thin frail form teases

Palms dry,chaffed... scrubbing pots and pans

Used previous night for cooking his Master's dinner

Small transistor radio his only treasure

Gives him entertainment in good measure

Wipes his palms on a dirty piece of cloth

He thinks of sipping some warm vegetable broth

Pangs of hunger grips... cramps his sunken tummy

Looks longingly at the biscuits in glass jars... so many

Forbidden to eat even a single piece

Instead wipes his Master's bicycle clean of grease

Gets ready to face the stony cold tough toil

Picks up the kettle puts the water on boil

Innocent brain,body is drowsy.. deprived of sleep

To whom should he complain ? For him who shall weep?

Nary a smile ever shows on his pale cheeks

This evening there is a political meeting on the streets

Brand new Happy Circus has come to town

Chotu thought of going there and meet a clown

Thinks of touching,feeling the clown's painted face

Discover the mystery of the grin despite the disgrace

The tea stall opens every morn at seven

The child serves the customers till eleven

Large blob of "sattu" his breakfast at eight

Then a cup of tea and a "beedi" his mind feels light

Sun climbs overhead peeks through the cracked roof

Any more on child labour ? Any more proof ?

© Bishwanath Mukherjee