Posted: January 15, 2012 in So called Poetry

No one wants him
he was left by a tree,
Alone in the cruel world
all on his own to bore,
To bore the jibes and puns
to live and die alone
He works at tea stall,
or cleans the transport
buses, but he’s a heart,
No schools to go, Not any

friends, to share and laugh
with, no comfort at nights,
Not any sunshine of Delight
He was an accident,
or so he’ve learnt
But he don’t blame god,
He find it useless, For
Gods are for riches,
to pray and pretend,
Had they been there
why would a kid be here,
But he’s afraid to complain,
cuz he’s alone, and small,
He fears for the next day’s
meal, the one he’s to eat alone
He talks tough, and he’s
rough, but he’s ten and he
dreams of toys and food,
of comforts and love, but
inside he know he’s Alone,
He sobs silently at nights,
praying next day be different,
but the fairies don’t exist,
and Santa is a folklore
And crying each night,
he falls asleep, all Alone,
Alone he’s, forever
Not even with a dog,
called Jack or Sam.
On the streets he wander
And deeply he ponder:
‘What will tomorrow bring,
When the town bell ring?’

  1. You’ve penned it down very beautifully.

  2. His friends are around him,
    He has everything he needs,
    A family that loves,
    Money that buys.
    He’s never alone, never needs to be,
    Still he feels all alone in the crowd!

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