Neither shower of blessings nor smiles in coloured wrappers,
Rather a call for contest; who would survive!
Every day goes like children day only,
Just not with smiles but working as a daily labour,
at times a greasy mechanic or as a factory worker,
Sometimes a servant or a maid,
As if fancy dress competition of the day!
After grinding childhood each day,
a tough night fall, a gloomy dark night in which,
talks of faith, hopes and dreams huddled around us,
and we find our secret desires to have a toy, a balloon,
A dream where we would enter and ceaselessly play,
Until dawn exhausted to bear bitter truth of our life
that “ we are not child anymore.”
Our children day carries threats of losing innocence,
In place of toffee and gifts,
No matter whether boy or girl!
We are very much needed at the work site,
All look for us,
Small hands have taken up the gauntlet.
A call for contest, who would survive last!
The world we know around us is cruel enough,
To trample across our heart
None can understand silence of withered lips
Nobody get time to see a pair of thoughtful eyes,
Wounded our soft emotion still we celebrate each day
As we move on in our life.
Do labour for hours and hours as if outset of celebration
Celebration for a meal, a promise for existence!