Saturday, January 15, 2011

He Learnt to Make Paper Bags

He stares listlessly.

Slowly he wipes off the drool with his hand
His body and mind on different wave-length
Blank looks piercing through vacant air
Focused, unfocused, and then focused again
Dips his fingers into glue bowl stand
Carefully attaches the loose paper ends
Steps back, wiping his brow with a rag
Smiles, as he admires colored paper bags

One more job done, skillfully learnt
What next?

Twenty years later, he is an older man
Living in society where nobody cares
No job for him, they trust him not
Ignore his talents and lets him rot
Mother dead, father dead
Sisters, brothers, won’t share their bread
Confused he sits, plays with the glue
Makes paper-bags, then breaks and shreds

He is depressed!

Had somebody cared for him instead
Helped him see the better world
Cloaked in dignity, he too could survive
With little cash if earned with pride
Weakened physique, but could live in jest
Opportunity is what he wanted, my friend
Confidence gained, straight walk would he have
Shake hands too, with white-collared man

Alas! Reality bites!

We continue to live into this cruel world
Where one has to prove he has a clever hand
Life is a struggle, it is difficult to merge
In crowded space, there is no room to stand
Polished world seeks only perfect man
Slow and steady, behind they lag
Trained though with proper skills and airs
It is difficult to convince the world to care

Ah! Ouch!

Differently able is crippled and disabled
‘Common’ man’s curse for a ‘Special’ man


3 comments:

  1. Was browsing the net and stumbled upon your site. Was really encouraged by your site. I especially like this really powerful thought-provoking poem. Thanks for sharing.

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  2. Thank you so much for your visit to my page, glad u liked my poem :))
    Pushpee

    ReplyDelete
  3. This is really wonderful creation hats off to you. :)

    ReplyDelete

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