There is no food for the child
no clothes enough for the child
stands bare bodied the little child
the hair lies dishevelled on the child
the eyes send a pain from the child
the thin hands of the poor child
hesitantly comes forward in steps mild
extends her hand slowly to the passersby, poor child
pierces the heart with a stab though in a hide
then the girl carrying a child
knocks at the car windows for a while
those in the car drive her wild
wipes her tears with no shy
walks back to make another try
her mother is about to die
poor girl, she could not muster a pie.
Meenas Poems 