I’m A Rag Picker

The destitute I am
with a tormented fate.
Every dusk I witness in,
the collection of trash.

In the foots of the hills
The rags house my only home
Filled with garbage heaps
My hutment and the muddy lawns
Often found in dark shades
Inviting the herd of stray dogs

The palace of mine is
Scraped and fragile shanties
Floored with grass carpets
Under frail roof huts
Where I go into slumber
To escape the harsh chill

The untidy hutment I abode in
stifles my breath of pristine
The known site of garbage bin,
Is the domicile I wiggle in

Bestowing you a clean ambience
I fill my slums with days collecting rag
The muck I gather
Vanishes my life’s felicity in a single wag.

I am shabbily clad and my travel barefoot
The livelihood of me is to pick
The wastes you throw

This is what
My life’s routine plight is.