PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I was travelling on a rickshaw on a day, sunny,

All on a sudden a little girl came running,

I felt pity for her, she was in torn clothing,

I noticed her hands, the roses looked happy.

She was not speaking but her tearful eyes,

The survival of her family and the momentary fall of ache,

Largely depend on the choices we make,

Some of us by buying the flowers make them smile, some become haters.

I could not differentiate between the flowers and her,

So innocent  she was, left in my conscience an eternal scar.