Coins jingling in his torn pockets,
he runs around the graveyard,
his bare feet meant to step on the playground,
now kiss the dead,
roses white yellow and red,
he picks them up before they wane,
his hands bear the scars,
of his abandoned game,
walking between the lanes,
he sells the essence of the ceased,
living off the bread,
that the dead assist...
Poverty is one of the major global concerns.. I wrote this one when I read an article in TOI that claimed that the children who sell flowers on streets at a very low price pick them up from the graveyards.. I don't know how much of this is true..
#64 in poetry,
Thank you for being there..
YOU ARE READING
Amateur poems
Poetry'I walk alone with bruises and scars, some over my body and some inside of me' TRIGGER ALERT!! Do not read if you get easily disturbed with topics like racism, rape, depression, sucide and death.. *Winner of Equestrian awards!! *2nd place in the BLO...
