Down The Vanilla Streets..

Wavering, it passed away.
   Pale young face, creased with worries, edged along the road. His hands trembled consciously, while the sound of nickels hitting the steel-cup got lost amidst the deadly horns. His life seemed traumatized with unseen bruises. His soul gathered in it, the whole universe, the unlit stars he wanted to reach, abyss path he wanted to cover. Suddenly, he started moving fast, and reached a man. “Sahib?” he spoke softly. “Sahib?” and the man turned, looked the child pryingly. “Sahib? Kuch..”
Anger flushed his face and he shoved him away. “Saahiib” and then a thrust followed. His foot slipped, fetched a heavy kick on a wall of a house and he froze, staring at the man leaving. He yanked a shuddering sigh, his mouth twisted; he rubbed his eyes with his soiled hands and sobbed. He laid down there hopeless, and an hour later he was sleep, maybe lulled by the sweetest hopes.
    Now and then, my teeth clamped on my lips. My mind wandered and jaws ached.  What on this earth are we doing? Staring at these angels battling to survive? Enjoining as their abilities viciously mutilate?
     Cowards, we are. Malice, we breathe. By boasting and daring each other, we can overcome our cowardice, and help with this aggravated problem. We can make a difference, if we promise to. We can help these little angels spread their wings, only if we want to. But the thing to muse is that it’s demanding.
     Every step, he inched, demanded; every tear that trickled, stipulated the right to live.  Have you ever seen such a despondent thing?
“Every life deserves a certain amount of dignity, no matter how poor or damaged the shell that carries it.”
 Rick Bragg, All Over But the Shoutin'

A little contribution to the A MORNING BIRD blog.
http://malodia.blogspot.com/
Here's the blog of the girl behind this idea. Maliha Naseer, people.