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.
Picture design Anumita Roy, Different Truths