*

 

The vultures hover above their tiny heads.

The wind here has never stood still, the putrid smell of decay fills the air.

Their dirty hands, the sewer nearby and the food crumbs tell an endless tale of survival.

There is no healing except from the spit of the child-bearer.

A life’s worth of lessons learnt, but there is no classroom in sight.

The friends are also here hunting for any pieces of metal or glass that they might stumble upon.

In the moonlight, the yellow teeth smile where a good catch for the day is an old ring on the finger.

 

*

 

*

 

I pick up the pieces of the broken glass picture frame with my hands, vary of every piece left behind on the floor. Tears run down my cheeks and there is only one thought in my head. One by one I collect them nervously, this is my one year old’s favorite place to play in the entire house. Right behind the TV stand, next to the dusty fireplace, this is his corner. But, again, there is only one thought in my head. I stand staring at the garbage can still holding the plastic bag full of the glass shreds, labeled carefully, and wrapped tightly, praying no child will ever hurt his hand picking through my debris. I write the above for all those children who make a living scouring through our trash and waste and who live each day at the end of this world.

With endless love and compassion that they don’t go to bed hungry tonight.

 

* * *

About The Article Author:

Our mission with FutureSTRONG Academy – to grow children who respect themselves, their time and their capabilities in a world where distractions are just a click or a swipe away.

I see myself as an advocate for bringing social, emotional and character development to families, schools and communities. I never want to let this idea out of my sight – Our children are not just GPAs. I’m a Writer and a Certified Master Coach in NLP and CBT. Until 2017, I was also a Big Data Scientist. In December of 2044, I hope to win the Nobel. Namasté

Write to me or call me. Tell me what support from me looks like. 

Rachana Nadella-Somayajula,
Program Director & Essential Life Skills Coach for Kids and Busy Parents

Poetry

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Why Darkness Can Be a Gift

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Dear Refugee, My Life Must Go On..

Dear Refugee, My Life Must Go On..

* * *    The translated Telugu version: ప్రియ శరణార్థీ! నా జీవితం ఇలా నడవనీ.. This poem appeared originally in The Saaranga Magazine HERE.    *   It's not too unthinkable,sipping licorice tea in my cardigan,And day dreaming of a life of civil liberties....

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Momentous: A Poem On The Value Of Time

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Perceiving My Anthropology

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*   I don't know what moves him.I remember the day he came back home tohide his red eyes behind that newspaperafter he lit his mother's pyre.This is the man, the brunt of all my emotions,whose lifetime fits in this poem.   It's mostly the appalling nature of...

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To My Estranged One

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*   Ok, I admit; I still have that shameful longingness.When you gathered everything else up and left me to myself, And, when the war of words ended, It was clear that the love between us had begun to show cracks.It would never happen to me, was the conviction I...

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Yours Singularly

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