One met them

One met them on the major roads
Talking to themselves as they swept
The scattered pieces and bits roaming
In the pot holes and puddles left
In the gutters and as if not knowing
They were been watched.

On the pavements they are seen
With just a single cloth to tie
A baby around their waist line
So forlorn and dejected a scene
They passed in flip flops for a hire
As their toes almost touched the ground.

In their huts and shelters the Rains leaked
And formed a pool of bed
To feed their babies water dripped
From their breast making their dear
Babies grow lean and weak.

At the bus terminals like strangers
They stir as one by passes
Their dirty trousers thorn and patched
Can hardly on both legs walk but hop
Seeing clearly through the hat covered face
Beneath which a dusty mind stayed.