DISGRACED

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
society is full of divisions and classifications... blacks, colored, whites, minors, inferiors, even on caste and creed.... no matter how many ages have passed, they say they have changed... but the truth is... they are still the same.

Submitted: July 17, 2012

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Submitted: July 17, 2012

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And there she used to stay,

in a small ghetto.

Next to the pile of dirt,

away from the glamour.

Unaware of stars of words,

Her teachers used to mock,

“From a sweeper’s family”

was how they used to call.

A little but it hurt her.

Brushing the tears away,

She smiled all day long.

Some of them smirked,

a few made faces,

And called names,

whenever they got her glimpse.

Ignoring all the odds,

She never let the hopes dim.

But at once,

crossing all the limits,

out of the extent of endurance,

A gang of them tried,

Caught the girl tight,

stretched her arms aside,

Tarnished the image,

She begged, she cried,

That was the day,

when Jesus actually died.

Nobody cared,

no one rescued,

“From a sweeper’s family”

That’s all what they argued.


© Copyright 2017 ANJALI SHARMA. All rights reserved.

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