When my granddaughter discarded the orange's rind and roughage,
Calling it waste in her tender innocence,
I pondered on the artistry of marmalade,
Crafted without shedding a single tear.
What truly defines waste in our vast world's design?
From manure to fuel, even excreta finds divine purpose.
It's our narrow perceptions that obscure the beauty,
Hidden within life's struggles and strife.
I observe the ragpickers, the unsung heroes,
Transforming trash into treasures, but the rich reap the rewards.
As affluent effluents flow through our streets,
The underprivileged strive amidst opulence,
Their untold stories echoing through time's passage.
Dr.SV Prabhath
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