Oh thou, my child!
Why torn robes you wear?
My little sister sleeps inside, she said
She needs a cosy nap and bed.
Oh thou, my boy,
Why wound your thumb on facet?
An extra hand, he said, to feed my kin,
they need; an early altruism, I say, to begin.
Oh thou, puny girl,
Has your mom seen you carrying the load?
She waits the other end, cutting slabs, she said,
I endure a little to relieve her sore,
Not much the ache my mother bears, I swear.
I bought a fancy bangle, she said;
A cosmopolitan in one hand, and a Gucci on other,
She drops the crystal down and looks,
For a hand to pick the shattered.
A toddler of six walks inside with a broom,
And picks the left of the wreck.
The tots learnt an early lesson of life,
Bed of roses is dream; they know and abide by,
Kilns, carpets and gem cutting, is their fate today, and life.
Their mothers’ need a hand; not delicate and fine,
Their fathers’ need an earner, a hand well bred.
Thou, my child, oh minor,
Play a game of ball;
Your tiny little palms then rest,
To learn another rhyme, no dime.
Oh Mercy the child, show mercy!
School is where they should be.
They play, they roll; they learn and goal,
A silver lining, for a tale untold to shine.