Roadside Grey

Every red light that one stops on in Delhi, little girls and boys are seen in tattered clothes begging for money or selling colourful pens or balloons. I came across one such traffic signal. And these were my thoughts.

Standing among the beautiful rainbow of colors
Blue green red and yellow,
Is all he could see.
Those tiny hands had more than they could handle,
The different sizes made it look like a perfect family.
Gleaming lights added to the drama,
The honk, made him see the reality again.
Little feet in the tattered slippers,
Blood pained cracks made it impossible to walk.
The cold breeze doesn't bother much,
The soft child skin is there no more.
The lungs are out of air,
Giving life to those balloons,
His dreams are shattered by the lonely nights on the red light.
The eyes only shine at the glimpse of a prospect customer.
My heart aches to ask him,
Why don't your parents save you from this plight.
Where I get my answer looking at the foot path,
The old lady is tying the balloons to a stick.
My car starts moving and the little one disappears.
But the memory of the little boy with balloons,
Stays fresh in my mind

Institutions like Child Line India, look into rehabilitating such kids. Maybe we can lend a hand!