We have no room,
We have no shame,
We have the night blanket,
The innocent children sleep,
beside The active parents,
Right beside the road sides,
Just under the dark bridges,
No nook and corner is wasted,
The youngsters are possessed with the spirit,
Haunted is our place,
Gossiping mouth can’t be gagged,
When the babies are born,
On the verandah of the hospitals,
And the new mother is ready,
To deliver the next citizen,
In a twelve months time,
just under the elevated highways,
wearing the dark night blanket,
the infant sleeps in the soiled clothes,
the older children are too tired to be awake,
the Indian adults who are left on the streets,
try to forget their troubles, just for a while.
veeraiyah subbulakshmi
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-indian-love/
