Sonnet: The Souls On The Streets At Night

Pity the beggar lying by roadside;
Pavement’s his bed; a stone, pillow for head!
With ill-clad children/wife scattered beside,
No one can tell if he’s alive or dead!

Pity the soul, whose dwelling is pavement,
Victim of men/ insects/beasts/ wind and rain!
His roof is formed by the vast firmament;
His only wealth- a begging bowl and cane!

Pity the street-children and people lost;
Their suff’ring’s endless, more so when diseased;
Nothing frightens them, not even a ghost;
There’s none to bury them, when they’re deceased.

Pity the man of poverty in street!
God dwells in him; God surely, will he meet.

by Dr. A.Celestine Raj Manohar M.D.,

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