And still she was standing

She was looking straight into my eyes, motionless and wordless. The dark face, though surprisingly calm and beautiful, the tiny body naked except for the worn out small skirt, the swinging hands more like a pendulum as if the body is too weak to carry them. The hairs scattered and untidy, brown and uncombed, dry and unoiled, dead and dusty. She stood there with the distended belly emerging out of the small torso, encrusted nose. The face carried mark from all over the time speaking of their own saga. One she might have got collecting plastic in the garbage bin. The other below the right eye she might have got while running to avoid the barking mad dog. The encrusted wounds she might have got a thousand times. But she stood there with a faint smile. The marks speaks of her suffering and undefined and uncared pain. But she stands their with an innocence still intact, dreams still preserved and the unseen hope. She is too small to understand the politics of living world but surely she understands the morning sun, the evening moon and the chilly wind. may be thats why she still stands there looking straight into the eyes, with the anticipation she is ceased of.

P.S. Yesterday while returning home from office took a stop in a store to buy a Pulpy Orange beverage drink. And I found her standing near a drain and looking at me. I was confounded and and I confusingly but with conviction gave her the pulpy orange, reluctantly she accepted and stayed still looking at me. :)

Truly
Abinash