Left by his mates,
on the busy pavement
he sits under a lamppost
and plays with the sand
A banjara boy
i know his friends
who are begging in the traffic point
Sickly boy in a half-pants
thin limbs
feet covered with dust
Luckily, he finds an ant’s hole
Oblivious of his sides
he collects the sand
and put it into the hole
Is it a play?
Does he need fun?
Two or four hands away
boys in tracksuits
are playing cricket
Evening walkers pass
the little thing
chatting and laughing,
falling and rising
Lovers eating icecreams
men and women
taking tea, and the boy
is playing with the dust
sitting by their manicured feet
