Clad upon the ignored side of the road,
they made a home of their own,
By gathering metal and tin sheets,
From the great dust dumped around.
They lived, ate, and cleaned the utensils,
All at one single place,
One corner was called bathroom,
Another was called kitchen.
A bucket and mug was kept,
In a corner called bathroom,
A single 'Chulha' was placed,
In a corner called kitchen.
It was their heaven, their only world ,
But,One day their home collapsed,
Those people destroyed their heaven,
Gathered by those diligent hands
Reckless as those people were,
Who destroyed their heaven,
And called it their duty,
To end their little cornered life
The wife almost screamed with terror,
Seeing no home but dust,
The husband got almost mad,
And ran after those people.
Cursing them, Accusing them,
For destroying their only abode,
Collapsed down on the dust,
Blaming their poor destiny.
My heart went out them,
but could not even console them,
I could curse the destroyers,
And, Prayed for them
To my utter wonder,
I saw that home build again,
In the same place,
With the same metal and tin sheets.
My happiness knew no bounds,
Tears of joy rolled down frantically,
They helped me regain trust in my beliefs,
That, Not giving up matters
Many people wither away,
When life puts them down to dust,
But, A real hero emerges,
When he/she decides to face the fight.
They are our real Heroes and Heroines,
They are whom I call,
OUR UNSUNG PROTAGONISTS
They fight with their destinies,
Just to live a little more time,
To survive one more day,
Each time someone breaks their heaven.
