I’m A Rag Picker

The destitute I am

with a tormented fate.

Every dusk I witness in,

the collection of trash.

In the foots of the hills

The rags house my only home

Filled with garbage heaps

My hutment and the muddy lawns

Often found in dark shades

Inviting the herd of stray dogs

The palace of mine is

Scraped and fragile shanties

Floored with grass carpets

Under frail roof huts

Where I go into slumber

To escape the harsh chill

The untidy hutment I abode in

stifles my breath of pristine

The known site of garbage bin,

Is the domicile I wiggle in

Bestowing you a clean ambience

I fill my slums with days collecting rag

The muck I gather

Vanishes my life’s felicity in a single wag.

I am shabbily clad and my travel barefoot

The livelihood of me is to pick

The wastes you throw

This is what

My life’s routine plight is.