We might be poor; but our hearts are undoubtedly
richer than the rest,

We might be squalidly attired; but the blood flowing
through our veins is purer than the most crystalline
of stream,

We might be wandering on foot; but our speed is more
than the swankiest of cars,

We might brush our teeth with raw bamboo sticks; but
our jaws can easily squelch the toughest of steel,

We might smell of perspiration under the sun; but
our
bodies are endowed with a heavenly odor,

We might sleep under the open sky; but generate more
warmth than the contemporary room heater,

We might not posses grandiloquent pens; but can
evolve
mystical designs with our bohemian fingers,

We might eat with spoons and forks; but enjoy each
edible meal to our hearts content,

We might not bathe under mineral water; but relish
our
swim in the exotic rivers,

We might not possess sunglasses of exquisite quality
tint; but have the tenacity to stare the sun right
in
its eyes,

We might not have luxurious school bags to stash our
books; but cherish the privilege of carrying them in
our hands,

We might not speak in bombastic slang; but have the
power to perceive beyond the great sea's,

We might not have a flurry of servants to wipe our
tears; but have enormous fortitude to hold them
back,

We might never have flown in an aircraft; but have
soared higher than anybody else in the clouds; in
our
dreams,

We might not be able to apply jam on our breads; but
are happy to eat it with the soil of our motherland
coated on its surface,

We might not resemble a Hollywood star; but the
radiance we emanate is more stringent than the day,

We might not have millions of dollars incarcerated
in
the bank; but have indeed the blessing of God; the
love of our mother to resurrect our broken lives,

We might not use perfumed shampoo; but still our
hair
shine marvelously under the moon,

We might not have golden roads to traverse on all
day;
but still come out resurgent; alive from the blazing
fires,
We might be adorned in shabby rags; but our
barren
skin doesn’t mind being penetrated by the most
acerbic
of thorns,

We might have pangs of hunger reverberating in our
stomach; but are capable of facing the entire army
single handed,

And people might christen us as 'SLUM CHILDREN'
glaring us each minute with contemptuous stares; but
we consider our huts as the most colossal of palace;
with each granule of mud impregnated in its walls
giving us a scent of our perseverance; the essence
of
our motherland…

(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.