This poem is an afterthought to an incident you occasionally see on weekends at your home.
In the busy lanes of everyday grind
there creeps in some known angels
from all walks of life,
No measured frequency of their trail,
jailed to their sojourn hopefully every day
On a fine day,
he stood at my doorway
‘give me something, Baba! '
twice and thrice,he did say
Hearing, instantly I rushed to mom
mummy! he is standing at the door
give him something,give him.
Busy in important work, she ignored
‘Say to go for now and come next time'
‘God bless you, my child! have bliss'
the old guy uttered and turned back
‘Live long my child, grow big'
as he stepped away, repeatedly said
Surprisingly, was refused but so much he gave;
no anger, no greed, no envy on his face
For blessings of others, he ever prayed,
though he, himself was least fortunate
Sd/
Roohul Haq
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