The Ragpicker

The Ragpicker

She stared at her face,
In the tiny mirror.
Gone was the youth,
And the beauty of yesteryears.

Her face was withered,
Her hair was a riotous mess.
She was clothed in rags,
And scavenged for food.

She still reminisced,
About the glory days of yore,
When heads had turned,
As she strode across the roads.

She had posed like a picture,
For many a painter,
And stood like a statue,
For several sculptors.

She had been the leading lady,
For umpteen heroes,
And carried many a movie,
On her slender shoulders.

Every day would be glorious,
Or so she had thought.
She had looked forward,
To bright dawns and nightly stars.

Then came the rave parties with their fixes,
From sharp but soothing needles.
She had also downed spirits of many hues,
Into her beautiful but luckless frame.

As days went by,
She needed fix after fix,
And more than several,
Spirits to down.

She lost her home and her wealth
And became one of the many,
Rag pickers of the world,
Who begged for fixes and spirits to drink.

2 thoughts on “The Ragpicker”

  1. The very fact that ragpickers still exist hits us hard in our hearts. People whose childhood is stolen from them are a sign of the meaninglessness of civilisation. We need to eradicate this evil.

    1. Very true Tom. If you look deep down, the fact that sewage workers and rag pickers exist even in the 21st century is an indication of our inability to live together amicably in society.

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