A boy sits by the roadside,
with a tattered jacket.
In the company of the rain, dews and mist.
Cluster of griefs & pain host a conference in his mind.

He is a replica of sadness & broken things
— a mirror reflecting how porverty cripples
dreams, how life reeks of pain. He is a hand stretch
toward heaven, awaiting wonders from angel.

His body wrecks.
Bowl in his front, with a million of questions;
He makes a silent call — for help.

Will you leave — dissolve into absence or
give him a piece of you?