somewhere in my memory, lives a boy…

In the busy streets of my city, with cars honking and crowds rushing by, one painful sight comes to my mind every day –the sight of a beggar boy, barely a teenager, whose face reflects his tender years.
The boy’s posture reveals that he is carrying the heavy weight of responsibilities on his shoulders. His worn and rough hands tell the story of struggles far beyond his years. His torn clothes hang loosely on his weak body, and his bare feet are hardened by the harsh ground beneath him.
There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, a silent cry that pierces the world’s “unbothered” mask.
The road becomes his stage, where this beggar boy plays the character of a helpless beggar in an endless drama of poverty and despair. He must perform the best as his survival depends on his act.
For him, the road is both a refuge and a prison. It gives him a place to survive and exist (a refuge) but also traps him in poverty and struggle with no escape(a prison).
I lowered the car mirror and gave him a few coins. But it hurt me to see that my small act brought no trace of joy to his face. His eyes remained lifeless.
That moment left me frozen for the rest of my life.

The beggar boy..

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