Bells jingle, collection escalates,

Mother yells:

“No torn clothes, only the washed and good ones.”

Father with spectacles on nose tip,

Lifts and measures each weight,

The child to carry to the school’s third floor,

Packs of rice, wheat and lentils.    

Wagon loaded with articles miscellaneous,

And coffer pregnant with notes and coins,

But benevolence slain and flung far from the helm,

And the lorry diverts and forgets the goal.

Wallets  fatten  to brace lavish life,

Stalls raised to flaunt second hand garbs,

And the grocer enlarges his basement fast.

The gaunt face with eyes deep down,

 Sings a lullaby in moans and whines:  

“Angels gather your clothes, books and toys,

That the water swept far away to the sea,

 Grains will come shortly in bulk,

 I will feed you a bowl full of rice,

And rock you in a glowing cradle my child,

With stars and moon shining overhead.”

———-Dr. Fathema Begum