The Newspaper boy.

It is not yet dawn, The Ganges is not yet awake. Upon the distant hills The wind is musing in dreams. Chirpings are not yet heard, The world is still wearing the veil of mist. Moonlight is winking at every door, Only a crow is breaking the silence. In those filmy scenes, A boy is wheeling for his bread. With a cartload of newspaper He is darting along every street. He is thin and lean, He is only in his teens. Yonder the rill and blossoming dales Two eyes are waiting for his return. A widow, the caring mother, A couple of toddlers, cadaverous frames, A thatched roof, signs of penury, A square meal, to sustain life. Plus, he does some errands, A family bangs on his shoulder. Daytime is spent in a shop He is not safe even there. A caged bird, silent sobs, Seasons meet him with an indifferent tab. The song is often a monotone, But the tang is one of inviting life. Hope human life is pushed by it, Dreams human life is filled by it. Rains are not always rains for man, Rainbows are also seen now and then. Thus, he too survives in this world, Though, it is a load beyond his shoulders. May the misty dawns gift him a pearl drop, May his dreary ways lead him to open skies. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 01st March 2014.