A Mam Walks The Streets
That old man near the traffic light
Was expelled from home at midnight.
He walked away steady on his feet.
And made his home on Delhi streets.
My driver whispered in a resigned tone.
I looked up putting down my mobile phone.
He carried on his shoulder a jute bag,
And in his hand a clean yellow rag.
As the traffic light blushed red,
The driver to stop compelled.
The old man near the traffic light,
Asked the driver –may I wipe?
He had a gentle voice and even stride,
Erect back and manner polite and mild.
Now this was his new means of livelihood,
He hoped to be paid to pay for some food.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Celebrating Women's Day! ! ! ! !
When God sat down to make a woman
He gave her empathy love and compassion,
By the time he finished with her
He had no more left for the man.
He gave her the ability to be a mother
And nurture and take care of others.
Slowly, on reflecting, it dawned on her
She was being treated like a piece of furniture.
At first she resigned to her fate
Bore the indifference of her progeny and mate.
Slowly she realised she didn’t have to be a victim,
And didn’t have to be at the mercy or everyone’s whims.
She knew it was not going to be an easy battle to be won,
Yet she took on everyone.
She began to firmly express her views
And waited to get her due.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
Added by Poetry Lover
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