Under an umbrella,
Sits a quiet boy,
At the edge of the
Busy road,
Selling multi- colours,
Of Holi,
On a hot
March afternoon,
Unable to use the
Tempting colours,
For himself/friends,
The child waits eagerly,
For indifferent clients;
If the big-eyed boy,
In a torn shirt,
Does not sell
The assorted colours off,
And brings some cash for the
Starving family,
He will
Not be able to
Play this Holi.
Destiny Poets
Uniting and celebrating the best "Writers" and "Poetry" from around the world centred out of Destiny Church Wakefield
Good poem Sunil, loved it
bring would do I guess, not brings
Thanks Koshy for your encouraging words.
The subject is he in the referred line, not colours; the he is not mentioned again to avoid repetition. Hence, brings.
Thanks for your suggestion.
Comments earlier on Apsara. Did you see that?
heartbreaking as well as infuriating….