Author: Viraja


I'm an Af-gun boy dwelling in this Mumbai slum
I have no one well-off on earth to give me asylum
When the wars tore my land which was out of economic sphere
Child-trafficking had landed me here

All my day I beg to strangers with all my might
To help me buy my lunch, that could help me through night light
They had thought me a few tricks of the trade
Of them, being a young boy, doing Namaste is top grade

I stand before an old temple of a Hindu god with peacock feather
"Krishna!" they speak of him, and line up in Autumn's rainy weather
One after other they hurry up ignoring me, as they walk past
Who is in for a bother for porridge, as if I'm going to last

Sometimes the devotees of ISKCON feed me
Especially a monk of great grace often is pleasant to be
He shows me a picture of a dark boy one day and asks if I am he
He looks just like me but alas! I'm not him, I'm a refugee

So many times after that men mistake me and think
May be I'm the lost Indian boy in the big picture in black ink
Only I wish I had the large mole on the cheek
For being welcomed in a good home and let my sorrows go bleak

Shortly a young man approaches me, his pace is in a gain
I'm but too naive to know he might snatch me again
My sister standing behind me tugs me in, in a hurry
But I still smile at him in wayside wonder, he looks quite merry

Now there's someone new in this roadside scene
The ISKCON monk has joined this newbie man unseen
He has packets of Biryani for me and my sisters
And a prayer book to read from, from which I learn some letters

"What's with the child? He's one of them!" points the monk
As he shows the newcomer my travelling home amidst the junk
"Oh! He looks like him a lot, wonder if its him!" says the newbie
And points to the picture hanging beside me in a glee

"Who?, Him?!!" Says the monk and mockingly turns around
For the newbie has aimed at another picture, all haste bound
Right beside the picture of the lost boy with the big mole on his cheek
Lays another picture of Hari Krishna holding a mountain for all those who seek

For some reason I'm happy after a long time
No one plays with me leave alone the lonely monk, of merit sublime
Today it seems Hari had time for me despite his legacy
Of fooling around with only maiden damsels in his city of fantasy

Cupping my hands spontaneously at the newcomer for his little mistake
Me and my ISKCON master chukkle with joy, to us it felt like eating cake
"I respect the divine in you!" tells my master to him and bows the head
And he, for the first time returns me my Namaste, oh boy! it feels like a flowery bed!!

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