Seems a mob of whispers n murmur,
Echoing all around in changing tunes,
One raises voice to tell story,
Being there one by one,
A meek melancholy voice,
Was pushing my cart with heavy goods,
Day's last total 16th could earn Rs.360,
Was enough to buy food,
For my 6 kids 3 sisters n parents,
Last thing heard was a blast,
Wish my family were there on my cart too,
A defeated voice wept high,
Sorry brother i did this,
Next was a doctor's soul,
Repenting he rejected offers,
He received to serve abroad,
To earn a lot to live lavishly,
For choosing to serve the destitute,
Last person was in mask,
Calling my names for belonging to a particular sect,
A voice like cold moan,
Sorry brother i did this,
Some voices so naive so cute,
Just weeping n weeping without pause,
Mature voices trying to console them,
Urging them to utter out,
Their bitter griefs n sad stories,
Beseeching a lot to go back,
To their school to their parents,
To earn their lives to live their dreams.
COPY RIGHT MUHAMMAD MUSHTAQ KHAN
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