Just a piece of cloth covered
Her withered lean frame.
The heat from the friction
That she has had with life for years had
Shrivelled her skin,
Making it look like the raisins!
Layers of dust
that had risen by her constant journey through life
Sat like a coat on her exposed torso.
Her head was a mass of hair,
Shade darker than her skin
And matted with dirt and grime.
With a gait, unsteady and slow,
Like a toddler’s halting steps,
She came to me and pleaded-“I need some place to sleep! ”
At times like these,
I always wish
that I had the power to play God!