Dasagiri long poem

Little boy, what kind of world are you born into?
The hard ground for a bed and a bag of cement for pillow
The color of your sleep in bleak rest is laid,
But your dreams, they are as colorful as the house your Pa will see raised

All the brightness in my house, in comparison with your smile will pale
Forgive me, for my shelter has stolen the sunlight from your boyish games
My hands are dirty, to impure places my clean feet have been
But none as pure as your dirty feet have seen

All these plants, the light from my wall adorns
While that from the crack in yours, illuminates the rubble and the garbage flowers
Why, it is of the same kind that I nourish at ungodly hours
But never once have I seen them blossom with a hue half as brilliant as yours

The disharmony stemming from my abundance is drawn to the silhouette of your vagabonding home
All my being yearns for what quietude rests under your tin roof’s fading chrome
Little boy, in place of your playground, soon a concrete structure will stand
Exactly where you lay now, cozily tucked in to your Ma’s frail hand

Little boy, I wish you would be around till I could convince you that life is not unfair
But whilst I preach from my clean clothes, I wonder if the world will spare your innocent heart from its dirty grasp so you would care
When you have reached thus far down life’s rocky road
You wouldn’t have to look very far, I’ll be right beside you on another dirty street
I’d be marching to the same horizon your then weary eyes will see
Little boy, how I long to be you

I once shared a relationship with the sun, I didn’t hide from it
I once had the soles of my bare feet upon the coarse surface of the earth
Oh how my feet long to stand naked upon the ground I cover it from now.
Oh the dreams; the colors of hope I stroked the canvas of my future with!

This time and space, that is yours now, was once my old playground
Like it will be someone else’s tomorrow
Little boy, I once was just like you
Except, I’m just a man now; I dream less often than I used to

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Vijay Karthik

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I plan weekends at work and worry about schedules when on a vacation. I sniff petrol while refueling my bike, now why would I not enjoy the ride! Work! I feel like a gymnast in golf clothes. My Monday Blues! They are almost black as my lungs. Oh women! You know one but can you tell them all. I wait on company with a pocket full of friends. I chase life while it chases me.
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2 Comments on "Dasagiri"

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@Vijay karthik such moving verse and written with such honesty..one that most readers will relate to in the midst of this daily strife called life. Splendid writing!

Jayshree Murali

this one’s a killer Vijay ! I work in the urban slums with children in Mumbai and every word resonated – deep and wide. Made my day.. Splendid writing..