A little child sat at a lonely three-corner;
Apple in her hand, chewed apiece;
Sitting there sully;
Deeply reminiscing her past;
Thinking deeply in thee world unadorned, I know;
Her expression lapsing any glamor world;
But in the boughs of sorrow!!
Her eyes moist and dilated down;
Indicative of thee self tolerance in her;
Of not to burst;
A sign of maturity conditioning in her;
To remain strong in difficult hindering times;
But thee sorrow loomed her;
Sat there she;
In a shattered kitchen cloth stitched dress;
With a scarf of kitchen mop;
She must have been born and grown in kitchen, her life most;
I remiscend her picture I snatched from my bus ride;
Photographed in my mind, I still remember;
Her gesture was such;
Never can I forget;
Scoffed yellow in her eyes;
Was etched in colour a yellow pale colour;
Sitting on a small wooden sill cornered;
Where was she lost?
What was she worried about?
Worry etched her forehead;
But I was fast pacing across in a bus;
A poor child, I couldn’t get to know!!