Beside the narrow lane stood every day,
A stature unpleasant pinches my nerves.
Smile never seems on gloomy face,
Drooped head and nervous always.
Withdraws behind the plantain stems,
For shadows even frighten the chap.
Bulged belly and eakle legs,
Scattered long hair forehead covers.
Drawn with mud- stain, pattern unknown,
Hides the nudity of innocent kid.
Receded eyes proclaim hunger pangs,
Hates he, in tender age, strange this world.
Tease the children fed well and brought up,
He is for them a toy as yo-yo.
Elders shout at, stare and growl,
Bastard, a bad omen, think they do.
Call even who did make him, bastard,
Some one anonymous, with in the crowd.
All are actors when sun is above,
All are on mask, the mask of gentleness.
Who did make a bastard, the boy I see?
Why the world does deny this infant?
Millions on streets as this tender,
Writhe and wriggle in life they pass.
Disown them not, for they too own,
The earth we live in with false pride.
Pelt them not, for ridiculous sins
Of the masked gentlemen's worldly pleasures.
