Stumbling hopelessly towards the car,
barely tall enough to reach, she taps
With a look of disgust, the man rolls up his window
turning to look away without so much as a second glance
Tripping over her feet in the midst of dizzy spells,
she runs to ours instead
And with a voice barely audible, she pleads -
the pain in her voice stinging my conscience.
She smells of the dark alleyways she calls home,
and with clumps of hair in her hands, I realize she's no stranger to violence,
Unveiling the abuse she's suffered, the affection she's lacking
Isn't that something we all take for granted?
Her eyes - they tell a story, failing to shield the hurt
and they open wide in surprise, as I stroke her stained cheek
Then rubbing against me, she sighs like an abandoned stray in search of warmth.
I long to take her home - the girl resembling a porcelain doll, having been trekked through the mud
Then backing away, clinging onto the ten rupee note, her eyes light up
And she walks away, clenching it tightly in her hands -
So tight that her grazed knuckles grow whiter.
I watch as her figure grows smaller and smaller amongst the crowd
and sigh to myself, as people brush past her
shunning her mere existence.
