The Child Rag Pickers Poem by JIBAN GOSWAMI

Flotsams of society, their fragile bones wearing patinas of flesh and skin,
they employ themselves:
to pick rags discarded by the children of superior Gods.
Technically un-bonded, laws do not brand them child labour.
Straddling their homes, shielded by few feet of air,
from the booted feet of passers by,
they patch fragments of picked up rugs to trap their sorrows, their constant pals,
that assure them of unfailing warmth:
warmth that is cold somehow.