Lost Childhood

Childhood is the loveliest stage of life, is it? Not for me though, not a bit. I watch those children with a ball and a bat, As I sit working hard on a ragged mat. With downcast eyes for me, people see, Alas! Mirth has turned its back towards me From the break of dawn, starts the tiring deed, A whole days hard work, a morsel or two to eat. I make those colourful bangles, women love to wear, For my own colourless life, no one does care. The smoke pumps my lungs, my life is ceasing, People wear my bangles, their joys increasing. I put the scanty money supply in my mothers palm, With somewhat little joy, she holds my thin arm. Clutching the money happily, she looks at me with pride, But still she knows its less, her tears she hides. She wants to educate me, give me a nice dress, But ses like a fly in a web, shes just helpless. Those children laugh and dance and sing, But no, Im deprived of all these things. Ive never seen the doors of a school, Just harsh labour and clanging tools. People promised many things, money, oh theyll give me a lot, Convinced, I worked hard, a few rupees I got. To lead a proper life, and not having to fight, Have I not, O friend, every single right?