Ragpickers

by Rumjhum Biswas

The rain falls on my cityscape
Just as any city rain must fall
It falls on these slow moving bundles
Some of whom are barely three feet tall.

Thin figures, rummaging on all fours
Amongst my City's fetid garbage heaps
Gritty eyes light up, though I know
The treasure found is hardly worth the keep.

Rain sodden, fly-ridden, beriberi bellied sinners.
For them a half eaten slice of bread nestling
Among dung heaps is a call for arms. The winners
Take the loaf, while the losers keep on wrestling.

Yet, they are children, much like a flock of crows
They have their hierarchy and codes of honor.
They have their own laws and cruel mores
And they have before them - our nation's future.

© 2008 Rumjhum Biswas