Hot rays blazing down
He skipped through the tree shadows
The week at the factory tiring
But it was a holiday tomorrow

Vendors at their roadside stalls
Shops with salesmen arranging stacks
Drivers waiting for their daily fare
Labourers moving heavy packs

He wore old tattered clothes
And a bag not worth a dime
His steps were slow, calculated
But his face wasn’t over nine

From a hole came four wagging tails
Cute tender puppies pouncing
But their skins shrunk to the bones
Showed no mother, no food, no housing

The puppies gathered around him
A stranger evidently wasn’t he
He bent and opened his bag
Eight front paws on his knee

He took out the bowl and poured
A small packet of milk
He smiled at the eager tongues
He knew what he had just filled

No money, no clothes, no school
It was just a bowl of milk
But for someone with nothing to spare
Was it just a bowl of milk?

The world moved on, no one turned
Nor did he as he walked away
For he had duties on his young shoulders
From which he couldn’t afford to stray

If the world was a painting
Where the hearts with colours were told
There would be sure many colours
But his heart would stand out as gold





…