Monday, May 7, 2012

Death of a street boy


He is dead
and now he lay at rest
there upon that little bed of dirts
his solemn stillness, the calm face looked as though to smile
Because for him,
to live was no great.

He is gone for a sleep so deep
into that slumber so beautiful
with no trace of pains, din and bustle to bear
so majestic a sleep can be
no superiors might have ever slept
the cold stiff body,calm expressionless face
seemed to tell me
He always dreamt of beautiful deaths.

So fresh a creature he looks
as he used to be when he trotted around
among the heap of dirts beside my house
embedded with elations when he found tin cans and metals
that day he would laugh gaily
to all those who looked with such coldness as he is today.

As the dusk prepares to welcome the night
Many street pupil begin to come
the bodies in rags cried a lot
There among the crowd were also the gentlemen
Drivers stopped by, people dismounted from their cars to take a look
But then someone said
"Ah! what a beautiful sleep
no God might have ever slept".
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