The Untouchable Boy

I see a boy,

On a lonely track.

Maybe it was me,

A long time back.


He has a forlorn expression,

Pain dripping from his eyes.

With no one to support him,

All he could see was his own demise.


All he needed was one kind word,

Maybe a helping hand.

Someone who could share his pain,

Someone who would understand.


Someone who could appreciate him,

And tell him he did right.

A breezy gush of wind,

To guide his lonely kite.


All he wanted was a compliment,

To balance every insult he had heard.

A pair of wings,

To support his flightless bird.


Maybe once in a while,

He would get a tight hug.

Make him feel needed,

Not trampled on like a rug.


Even if an acknowledging nod,

Was all that he received.

He would not feel alone,

He would not feel deceived.


If no such thing was possible,

A handshake would’ve been a good sign.

To tell the little boy,

He was the diamond of the mine.


But the boy got no such thing,

Not one stood up for him.

Even if one would’ve helped,

The situation would not be so grim.


Not once did anyone come,

And thank him for his help.

Not once did anyone hear,

His sad sorrowful yelp.


The true meaning of respect,

Was then understood by the boy.

It was that sticky glue,

Which fixed every broken toy.


That day he understood,

What it meant to be a Dalit.

He was that piece in a puzzle,

Which would never fit.


He understood the meaning of a word,

That he had brushed so casually in the past.

Those five letters snatched his identity,

And people called it caste.