The boy and the mother at brick kiln

The boy and the mother at brick kiln*
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Every day almost on making  journeys to and fro
Taking that road by the river
Find the two , the boy and the mother
At that slum beside that brick kiln,
In that shabby dingy place,
They two shine like meteors fallen on earth
In the morning, out of place ,
Shining still in their own halo,
The boy in his school dress
And the mother combing his unruly hair
Making him tidy.

At the evening , they look like two starlets no less
Or glowworms perhaps
The boy sitting at the dawa of their hut
With an oil lamp burning away
All toils of the day,
Vapour rising from its flicker of hope,
Reading a book or doing some lessons he learnt at school
And his mother sitting a few yards away
With a hand held palm leaf blowing soothing air to her child.
( * as submission to ' Are we mere spectators' anthology )

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