Innumerable questions pound the walls of our mind. Words in our poem no longer rhyme. Why no one wants to take us home or considers us as their own? Why no one lends a loving hand and lets us suffer on the barren land? We seek neither a roof, nor a stack of grain Merely the sunshine of care in the season of rain. As a desperate knock interrupts my thoughts, I roll down the glass to be greeted by imploring eyes of a poor child. My heart goes out to her but I cannot help wondering if she has chosen this path out of need or has been forced to do so. I hand her a penny and drive away as the signal turns green. We can reflect upon the condition of the underprivileged children clad in rags or pass our judgement about the misfortune but is that what we call a solution? Gaiety of the childhood has wandered off as the bereaved are left behind to search for remnants on the crowded streets. I had once come across a poor child who was hurrying off from one vehicle ...