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Born to the streets; whining, weeping, he grew up

His unriped fruit–plucked, his smiling days–bleeding–across his face

Numb eyes–watch those shiny cars race

A hand pops out, drops an envelope, to the suspicious gaze

The envelope man nods, cynical smile spreads

The car stops, to see his frozen blue lips, flings two coins in his bowl

Bare feet, up to knees, mow the death-like snow,

Skidding his broken toe-nails, oozed the frozen blood

Sweeping his body to the Dhabba, for a cup of hot tea

He looks around; a dark alley, perfect for–evil sin

Ripped open purse—her shredded clothes—her shredded soul

His bloodshot eyes, staring at the other side, a—helpless young boy

Traded to those who tempt with money; their dirty pleasure

Smudges into the psyche of the innocent

Coerced for submission—by his master, his blood–disobedient

Across the street, on a bench, an old woman mourns

Her weeping heart, on the oppressors–disable–to shower scorns

In her arms, her Beloved’s bruised body–restless

The boy’s heart pounds, this sight of blood–ceaseless

Runs away from this unbearable site, tumbles on a dead body

The Blood and sweat of laborers buried in construction sites,

A black jeep, drunken youth, crushes their limbs–these parasites

Walks away, that blind spoiled Brat!

Police, with large tummies, extort all his money

Voice of witness, cries for justice, buried deep

A dumping yard, a woman’s heart burns, screams–voiceless

Holds–the trembling fetus–in her bare hands.

Hollow–his insides, not even—‘a Heart’–left to beat

Organ-less flesh, sucked out of life, left to rot

Vengeful eyes burning, tragic hearts weeping,

To slay the soul-suckers, the flesh traffickers

The justice reapers, these god-like imbeciles

Their hands in black money, stained with—unriped blood

Men in Black–come to batter the–blue collar

Wiping the traces of the–heartless deed

Burying the guilty crown,

To their–conscience–they pay no heed