Voice of a Destitute

I am a destitute not a prostitute

People do not dare to respect me

They always suspect and disrespect me

I beg for money, I beg for food

I beg for shelter, I beg for my life

I don't belong to any privileged family

No one understands my misery

Everyday I run places like a nomad

People passing by, call me a mad

I fear nights as I have to find a place to sleep

I fear those whose words are always a beep

Someday I am run over by vehicles

Someday I am fed to wild animals

Some other day I am lathi charged by police

Will I ever in my life find peace?

I used to sit on a heap of garbage

Looking at those who were privileged

Many used to look at me in a disgusting way

As if I had committed a murder in a cruel way

A painful shock used to run through my body

I used to consider myself a waste body

It hurts when we are addressed as untouchables

I used to blame God for forcing us to face hurdles

I no longer beg for a posh life

As I am accustomed to my destitute life

I never whine or complain

I neither shed tears nor go insane

Be happy with who you are

Be happy with what you have

Always wait for that day

When you are going to have your say