The Indian Streets

Pragati Sharma

A cramped, crowded place,

Where the poor transit on footpath's base

Where the chaiwalas,

Serving the fragrant, tasty tea

Where the cobbler,

Shining shoes guarantee

Where the flower sellers

and the slum dwellers

Never act as absentee.

A place with innocence,

Where the grains take decisions

Of the poor and the hungry

And are the life's key.

Where the vegetable vendors

are the food renders,

For the people residing.

Where there is no rule

neither a zebra crossing.

Water logged, drains clogged

Where rain is a curse

Where the situations are worse...

Just take a turn,

and you can see the garbage burn

Here and there,

Garbage everywhere.

But, Oh! My dear,

Have you ever thought

how these stories were brought??

That cramped, crowded place

Is the country's face,

Where dwells the talent

and is extraordinary,

But, has no patent...

The chaiwalas with a sweet smile

Source of people's union

and the talks and laughters

That echoes through miles...

Where the water logging

And the drains clogging

Remind us,

Of the humans interfering with nature,

And bit by bit,

Disrupting their future ...

Where the garbage burns,

Re_ect the turns

That the world has taken

People educated but, awareness forgotten...

They are nothing,

But the Indian streets,

Even they spread the values that are concrete

And that cannot be denied,

All the negatives keeping aside..

You can feel the positivity,

Even if you are amidst the negativity

It all depends on your perception

Whether to blame or to be proud of your nation.