On an infant
morning as this
along the lonely hazy lanes,
while golden beams wait to spill,
a little lass treads on and on.
Frost bites into her tenderness,
through naked feet and tattered clothes.
Cool winds whistle past her,
caressing her careless unkempt locks.
She looks around for hailing hands,
and sees no one far and long.
She quietly disappears into the dark.
Her frail limbs carry her forth,
into the sleepy lanes that yawn,
where tots cuckoo in cozy arms.
Munni moves with ease and hope,
around the lanes of acquaintance.
Her basket brims with fragrant flowers,
jasmines, roses and lilies alike.
Lustrous tresses and temple shrines,
they wait to adorn with their charm.
Many a penny clink in her palm,
that she waits by to smile and count.
"Will they buy me a loaf of bread,
to take home to my hungry ones?",
so she sighs homeward bound.
Asking eyes haunt her nights,
so Munni comes every dawn.
Contributing Writer Daya Bhat