The harsh reality seen by little eyes,
No, not childhood, but the truth called life.
They greet the sun, the moon, and the stars,
To endure the toil, ignoring the scars.
The tired eyes scrabble the blue skies,
Till the horizon, with no tears left to cry.
The tanned skin on those tiny little arms,
Have gone stronger with no muscular charm.
The earth that witnesses the little steps,
Are pushed to work through the cobwebs.
They still fetch the happiness and joy,
Their plays don’t need those fancy toys.
When they run in dried lonely fields,
With feet sans a protective shield.
They don’t want butterflies to greet,
But to reach, where the Earth & the Sky meet.
Messy clothes with chromatic patch,
Show the skin when they jump to catch
The only place, where they won’t be frightened,
Is nowhere, but beyond the horizon!
