The Girl In The Slum

Her long black hair was grimy and dirty
But she had a face graceful and pretty
This malnourished girl of nine or ten
Who never held in her hand a pen

A black string for necklace around her neck
A necklace without beads to bedeck
But there hangs an amulet of good luck
A colorful wings-spread wooden duck

In her left hand a basket she carried
Holding it against her hip she hurried
Walking behind the wandering cattle
To collect their precious droppings

The dung for cooking is much-wanted fuel
In this part of the world where life is cruel
She will form it into thin round cakes
Dry them; a dozen or so she will make

Then she will go to the sole tap in the slum
To fetch a bucket of quenching water
There stand many in line with buckets
Condemned to misery they have no smile

She will then attend to many other chores
Blood as water pours out of her pores
A mother to her siblings at this tender age!
And she does not complain or curse her fate

Her parents had gone out looking for work
Far past sunset they will bring rice
Tears will do amply in place of salt
Then they will spread the mat on the floor

The goddess of sleep will lull her to sleep
And in her bosom for a while keep
There she will enter the world of dreams
She will dream of clean flowing streams

She will dream of good smelling food
She will even partake of a sumptuous feast
But she will wake up hungry in the morn
For into this misery, she was born

Gods are cruel to the poor even in sleep
Dashing their hope, making them weep
Condemned to be poor by ugly fate
Hunger and thirst they will not satiate

The wheel of her life will turn without jolt
Until the day, it comes to a halt
Then she will enter the womb of the earth
And may the gods grant her a better rebirth