I saw him

Small hands, washing plates and dishes

I saw him, working on a chilly day

Instead of pen and paper; picking leftovers

Sacrificing his emotions and dreams for serving tray


Walking miles from home to work and back

His legs attacked by pebbles and spar

Cold breeze hitting the hilly road

His destiny is both faint and blur


His childhood crushed to earn daily

Shouldn’t be there any aid for his dreams?

Eyes full of drops remained lamenting ever

He spent his whole life in family screams….