The Gate

Through the gates of your mansion
Your happy face I see;
You are a pampered darling
Not a pathetic waif like me.

You are fed and clothed and protected
By parents who love you so.
My stomach is always gnawing
Fear and pain, are all I know.

We live out in the open
Huddling from rain and cold
At the mercy of strangers
And bullies young and old.

I take care of my siblings
While you have dolls to play
My mother works from dawn till night
There are mouths to feed, debts to pay.

We move from pavement to pavement
Even the hafta**, we cannot afford;
Fighting with dogs for food and space
And chased around by the slum clearance board.

Why were we born where we were
Was it my fault or just a whim of fate ?
Who decides who is born
On which side of the gate?

~ Shanta ~

[ hafta** -  extortion money ]

More Poems By Shanta

Kavitanjali

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