Author Information
THE LIVING LES MISERABLES'
While walking back on my way home,
In the wee hours of the night,
I came across a poor, young dame,
With a baby and filled with fright.
Before she approached me she had,
Stopped a car and sought some help,
But the riders inside wanted her instead,
And a night of fun at Satan's behest.
She walked away like a running doe,
And then came running fast to me,
On her lips was a genuine request,
To give her some money as charity.
"Sir, my baby and I are lost here,
Our village home ravaged by floods,
If you can be kind and spare some cash,
I will pray for your success in life's test."
Worn-out by hunger and nightly rest,
Her helplessness was clear in her stare,
As I reached out for my wallet and
Gave her some dough -- all I could spare.
She thanked me and looked up at heaven,
As her countenance said a quiet prayer,
I shuddered deep inside as we parted,
And felt sorry for those like her out there.
Then I asked myself: If this world can't care,
About the downtrodden and the poor,
Of what use are the rich and their banks,
And the government's gold coffers?
Fantine* and Cossette* entered my thoughts,
Jean Valjean too, Hugo's main characters,
As the real Les Miserables' of this planet,
Were making life an art work of the blind.
This was not the Pakistan,
Which Jinnah, the "Qaid", wanted,
Nor is it the "Land of the Pure",
As long as misery treads at nights, hunted.
Hunted by the hyenas in human form,
Who want to enjoy lustful joys,
I may have to become "Zorro"* again,
And make sure to end poverty and pain.
(Written by Muhammad Naveed Ahmed/Emmenay. Posted on July 12, 2011).
