Poems by

Rag Picker

a poem by Dhivya

With the sun shining above my head
I lie on the golden sand as good as dead
In a cloud of dreams I rest my head each night
Only to wake up blanketed in a desert of hale and fright

Cursing destiny every dawn
I wake up lost and forlorn
I stroll by the sandy seaside each day
Greeting people who come my way

Insults have become the music of my life
And disrespect- ever so rife
Am I to blame for my so called fate?
Or is it this world I so much lone and hate?

What have I done for my so called home?
Except for this sole poem
Are the odd, for a change to tardy
I guess time will decide my destiny

Today in this long gusty night,
I sit cold and hungry
Waiting for destiny to devour me…