Why the pain then???

Touched by the icy fingers,
of the cold wind that blew.
I began to walk hurriedly,
to escape the snow that fell anew.

The jacket I pull more tighter,
I tried to keep out the cold.
Still, it’s icy fingers touched me,
and held me in a vice-like hold.

Hurrying along, I saw a little boy,
slowly walking down the street.
His teeth chattered, his body was blue,
for the cold crept up his bare feet.

“Poor boy,” I muttered to myself,
I wish, a blanket the poor thing had.
Shaking my head, I cursed at the poverty,
that caused him to be thus ill-clad.

Reaching the haven of my hotel,
I almost forgot all about him.
Not really my mistake, was it,
that my memory of him became dim.

He lay on the  tea stall bench,
the next day I saw him again.
With anguish, my heart burned,
and I almost felt his pain.

A passer-by saw us and said,
“For him, no mortal comfort will do.
He’s dead now, and it won’t matter,
whether he has one blanket or two.”

It was still bitterly cold,
and the wind was strong.
Cold I felt, even in my warm clothes,
for I’d been out fairly long.

I pitied the poor boy,
and for his soul I prayed.
Once again, I blamed poverty,
and wondered why it’d been made.

Somehow, somewhere I felt remorse,
and faced a feeling of guilt.
‘Twas like the pain of a sword,
buried in my heart, to the hilt.

I didn’t understand why I felt so,
I hadn’t done any wrong.
Brushing it away like a snowflake,
I hurried along thinking…

Why is the pain there when I didn’t do anything Wrong!!

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