Fragile hands and little heads,

Making cutting lines and lifting heavy weights.

Eyes which should have been set on books and dreams

Are set on hoping for a day’s meal.

Hopes which should have no limit are being beaten up to shambles.

Hearts that should be warm and trusting are calloused with reality.

How many such days have to pass till we realize that our future is gathering dust and cleaning cars?

When will we learn to love all but our own and finally learn to call the world our home.