by Atta ur Rehman Qureashi
Published on: Sep 19, 2008
Type: Poetry

I am a child,
Every one see me .
What’s my condition?

I have no house
No Parents,No Friends,
No food to eat, No Clothes to wear,
No School for me to learn, I have No Money for these things.

All of you people know very well about my condition,
You see me daily on a road,
I live in open land.

No body loves me,
All people hate me,
No one wants to be friends with me.

I am eating dirty food, food from a rag.
I wear dirty clothes, and have no where to learn.

I’m a rag picker boy.

I ask you a question:
What is my mistake?
Who responsible for my condition?

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