Farah is pained by the poverty and squalor on streets. She voices it in this verse.
My soul twirls and faces mistreatment
Whenever I glimpse life, living on the street
Patchy clothes, torn blankets, all alone in sight
Looking dependent on cold-rainy shivering nights
There is no hope but only blunt faces
Faces with vagrant appearances and filthy traces
Is this the witticism of humanity that it belongs?
Or the impediments that will continue for long?
We are sheltered in a warm home with caring parents,
But what about theirs, the deadly calamities and deprivations,
We chew delectable foods and serve rest to cats and dogs
But who cares for the starvation in slum dogs
We wear a cozy attire and get warm near the furnace
But what about the penurious whom the cold chases
Why are we unaware and are beaming in our own sphere
Why are we like so, and why can’t their pain we share.
My core realises the agonies in their mind
That are fired and scars that invariably remind
The trauma, the flaw, the distress that speak
The innumerable marks that their bodies reek,
Our minimal efforts can secure them from ruining
And may create a new genesis with beautiful meaning.
©Farah Siddiqui Matin
Pic from Net.