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There he is sitting in the darkness,
Feared? from the dead silence…
He has closed his eyes…
Still…waiting for someone!
Who’s child is he?
There he is looking for his parents,
The freezing wind…
There he is shivering…
Still…feelings are warm!
Who’s child is he?
There he is bored to death,
Forlorn silence of his heart…
In this, busy world…
Still…he is on his own!
Who’s child is he?
How is he able to live without toys?
How often we offer such things to him…?
His empty hands...
Still…he never beseeches!
Who’s child is he?
How can he entreat for such a cuddly toy?
His tattered clothes…
His bare feet...
And… his innocent soul!
Who’s child is he?
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Owais
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