She sits patiently,at God's door,
Her limbs tired and sore,
Her begging bowl and she,hardly astir,
Her vague,sunken eyes ,lack lustre.
'Devotees' come and go; generally
Mindless of the figure in dirty white,
Some dole out a coin,a few, more generously,
Her silent plea goes unheard,for a bite.
Years ' of misery have etched fine lines,
A face with ancient wrinkles riddled,
Her skin,sagged and devoid of shine,
Her countenance,a tale of pain unbridled.
Once, long ago,in the distant time,
She might have been beautifully young,
Experienced motherhood,joyous and sublime,
Her heart might have skipped a beat, and sung.
Until Fate intervened and drove a wedge,
Twixt her joy and contentment sheer,
Rendered it silent,in her, the warbling sedge,
She languished in the mire of grief and a pool of tear.
To her tale of infinite and unpronounced woes,
An ear was lent,patient ,and in no hurry ---
Her offsprings,on her, shut their doors,
Her hunger drove her to slavery.
Then,age caught up with her,
Her limbs gave way and eyes dimmed,
She could carry on, no further,
For mercy,The Blue,her murky eyes skimmed.
The world has,as always, been too hasty,
To stop and stretch out a hand to help.
The unfortunate soul knew no benignity,
All other souls,either dead or centred in self.
Her faith she had never lost,
The world has been unmerciful,
God, she was sure, at all cost,
Would bless her with His grace, bountiful.
So she sits there, not so much for alms,
She is unconcerned,who goes and comes,
Her lips move in prayer,for Death to hasten,
To claim her,a soul abandoned and forsaken.
Chandni.
Her limbs tired and sore,
Her begging bowl and she,hardly astir,
Her vague,sunken eyes ,lack lustre.
'Devotees' come and go; generally
Mindless of the figure in dirty white,
Some dole out a coin,a few, more generously,
Her silent plea goes unheard,for a bite.
Years ' of misery have etched fine lines,
A face with ancient wrinkles riddled,
Her skin,sagged and devoid of shine,
Her countenance,a tale of pain unbridled.
Once, long ago,in the distant time,
She might have been beautifully young,
Experienced motherhood,joyous and sublime,
Her heart might have skipped a beat, and sung.
Until Fate intervened and drove a wedge,
Twixt her joy and contentment sheer,
Rendered it silent,in her, the warbling sedge,
She languished in the mire of grief and a pool of tear.
An ear was lent,patient ,and in no hurry ---
Her offsprings,on her, shut their doors,
Her hunger drove her to slavery.
Then,age caught up with her,
Her limbs gave way and eyes dimmed,
She could carry on, no further,
For mercy,The Blue,her murky eyes skimmed.
The world has,as always, been too hasty,
To stop and stretch out a hand to help.
The unfortunate soul knew no benignity,
All other souls,either dead or centred in self.
Her faith she had never lost,
The world has been unmerciful,
God, she was sure, at all cost,
Would bless her with His grace, bountiful.
So she sits there, not so much for alms,
She is unconcerned,who goes and comes,
Her lips move in prayer,for Death to hasten,
To claim her,a soul abandoned and forsaken.
Chandni.
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