Poem : Rags and Riches

Hello Reader,

Few days ago, I was watching an Old bollywood classic called 'Boot Polish'.
This movie is basically about poverty in India which revolves around two orphaned kids who rely on begging and later decide to earn by polishing the shoes of the people.
It was in 1950s this movie was made and the children in the movie dream of a future India with no Beggars and poverty.
But, sad to say, today in India, more than 75% people earn less than average income. (100 rs.)

Reasons : Corruption and Illiteracy. The same old.

Some have no food to eat at all and some are unhappy about the dis-satisfactory garnishing on their food.

So here is a small poem dedicated to the same topic and to the children who are unfortunate to born poor and remain uneducated and poor. I wish, People, who are capable of earning enough to live a daily routine, spend a little on the Poor too instead of spending all on self comforts.

Here it goes...

He looked,
through his naive eyes,
at the Creamy people on the Earth.
The minority crowd,
enjoying the handsome lifestyle,
from the day of their Birth.
He knew he was the majority,
deprived of the primal Needs.
He did anything but beg,
wiped tables, earned a little,
but through his Deeds.

He looked,
through his naive eyes,
at the fortunate, driving cars, walking into malls,
and coming out with shopping bags.
But all he hoped was to get upscaled,
a bit more than Rags.
To kill his hunger, sleep under a roof,
dress in a school uniform,
is all wants in his share.
Unlike,
building a thousand castles in the air.

He looked,
through his naive eyes,
at the trees, walking backwards,
on his way to the orphanage.
He soon had friends, food and fosterage.
Then the day breezed in,
when he met an angel.
The seraph advanced his hands
and claimed,
"I promise you a life without agony,
I am your new father, little Johnny."

* * *
He looked,
through his merciful eyes,
out of the rolled down mirror of his car,
at the pitiful, skinny boy,
wiping the table.
The scene he witnessed,
was a mirror of his own tale.
Teardrop flew down his cheek,
when his own past gave out a shriek.
The little dreams he saw as a kid,
were still like the unfertilized seeds in an orchid.

He looked,
through his merciful eyes,
with handful of shopping bags,
at his deprived childhood,
which still, unstoppably, nags.
Today, He had every felicity.
But, yesterday gave him insecurity.
To build the bridge to his withered dreams,
he had to find a bandage.
His salvation lied in fostering his past,
which lied in the Orphanage.
He found the same little, skinny boy,
sitting at one corner.
"What is your name?"
And the reply came in agony,
in his jittery voice,
"I- I am Johnny."

Ashish