No mother, no father
Neither shoes nor bed
He lives in a street
On pavements made of stone.
He is just ten,
Looks pale and thin
He has dinner so little
Sometimes, he dines on the smell
And if he’s starving to death
Nobody comes to feed him.
As the sun rises
He is exposed to child labour.
Tears roll down his cheeks
Nobody to confront him.
Even when he leaves this world
There will be nobody
To worry about him.
The writer is in class VIII, Viswa Bharathi English Medium High School, Anantapur