Begging for alms with shame,
Eating has become a struggle,
Homeless we are, not settle.
Eastern turns western,
Northern turns southern,
Living life without hopeless,
Efforts getting fruitless.
The humiliation becomes a culture,
Adopting this as nature,
When shall the deaf perceive?
When shall the blind receive?
Sight without being deceived?
When shall the stammerer achieve
A fluent voice?
On Street we foot
With a rustic boot,
Searching for food
Either bad or good.
In a tattered cloth
With a helpful thought
That the sought
Won't hurt our cut.
Foot drag ubiquitously just to mantle
On a panic route, we settle,
In the Insects den, we live
Like an oven; we stiff,
With hope, our tears will be joy,
Wish this is not a toy.