Paper bags and shards of glass strewn all over the street,
The little puppy lies alone, drenched from head to feet.
Rain splashing on the stone, feet pattering by,
The little puppy lies on the road, motionless without a cry.
A car goes whizzing past giving the little one a fright,
The little puppy awakes to the dark lonely night.
Born in a bunch to a healthy dog, this puppy is now alone,
The warmth of a mother gone so early, left to fend on the cold, hard stone.
A tender mouth longing to suckle now finds rotten peels,
Not enough to make him face and dodge the dreaded fatal wheels.
Without a mother, without a home, this puppy wanders around,
He longs to be loved and he longs to be found.
Welcomed into a home when finally his cries were taken heed,
But abandoned once again on being called the impure breed.
All he had wanted was love and a caring home to stay,
So what if he was a pariah, not a pedigree but a stray?
The child of God, an angel face with God even in his name,
Discarded in a pile of rubbish for something more pure, more tame.
In our lives of greedy gains, his wants are nothing at all,
A hand to fondle, a bone to chew, a lap on which to crawl.
Is it that hard to give him love only to get a supply of it never to end,
Is it that hard for us to love someone who we all call our best friend?
By Paroma Bhattacharya
Age – 15 years.