Beggars On the Indian Roads

It was a particularly cold night and I was returning home from work- warm and cosy from my jacket and shoes. While waiting for my bus, I noticed a few beggars who had made the footpath their home for the night. It made me feel rather sad that so many millions like them spend their winters on cold footpaths and torn clothes. I wrote this in that emotion soon after I reached home.

Beggars On the Indian Roads (December, 1996)

When nights are cold, what do we do?
Coats and rugs we tuck into.
And warmly all night hibernate-
But many are not so fortunate.

The footpaths that we often tread
For many, by night, are home and bed.
They lie on stones we walk upon,
With bags and rags to keep them warm.

Skins infected, blood diseased,
Just rotten leftovers to feed;
Craving for love that’s never bestowed-
Like dogs and pigs they are dead on road.

God knows why they were ever born,
Why all their lives were scorned upon.
Among reasons that we never thought,
What share’s ours- the better offs?