Little Dreams


The chappati's
were
flipping over the
chuhla

His palms,
partially raw
and roasted
wiping black
dust

Slowly those
fingers
holding adrak
for making the
wildest cup
of the day
went towards the
drowning sweat
holding his days
for
peaceful
nights

Those red
eyes
are more a
Kaleidoscope
narrative
to his
weekdays

Though not
real
He could barely
afford the
duplicate

In a city less
known
what more he
asked
than a bed

Mattress
aren't soft
but he manages
with stones
that
were once sharp
and
now flat as they
kiss his back,
some days
bleeding

Adjacent to the
pillow(his shirt)
lies a dog
crying for
his penury

He says
it's good to see
dreams
straight under
the sky so
you
know it's
reach
So, he
sleeps,
a 8 yr old
& again
next day
does all
that
to
buy the
car
he knocks
at
& gets refuse.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem