THOSE MISSING FACES

Those faces aren't related to me in any certain way

but yet those faces stare at me every single day

amidst crowded station, streets and neighbourhoods

while walking down these very paths I stumble upon coloured posters

which make me stand and stare

The details in these posters make my mind go slow 

the faces are similar to some people that I know

age 10 years old,curly hair, resembles an angel,

or an old man who looks like my dear father

and below that there is a date so pressing,

telling us about those who have gone missing

As soon as I complete my daily travels 

from home to office and back home

with hope i then memorise these

faces as if they were a poem

that maybe while walking on streets or stations

the hopes of those families don't die in vain

that maybe that Mr.Solanki,or that Gita,

or that Saif will be found again

I'll take to their parents, their children, their wives

I'll give them back their own old lives

maybe because, with those families i can empathise

I may not have lost a loved one, but I have lost many dear lives

but at least I had that sense of satisfaction,

that they wouldn't come back from where they were

and those who didn't get the chance to rest in peace,

families unaware if they are still alive or deceased

every morning for the good health of their loved ones they pray

unaware if they will never come back or return home today

Mr.Solanki had gone for his evening walk,

he had a bad memory, but knew his way back home

Girish and Mukesh too knew all the roads in Dehli

Jhilmil, who didn't know her in the neighbourhood,

Gita, fought with her hudband but was found later on

Saif, could not speak, but his mother listened to him

so that he never felt neglected

and even before it was winter, 

his favourite sweater was selected

they say that in the city nothing is ever repeating,

but none of those faces were seen that evening

for their well being, even priests were paid

and in phone books and contacts searches were made 

to find them, their families set out

to stations and streets with eyes blinking

Girish's father with a poster in his hand,

Saif's mother with a sweater, were thinking

maybe they have upsetted a god of theirs,

and that's why the poster they put up was ignored by us

We're busy in our own lives at such times,

but someone is patiently waiting for some sighs

I wish that our destinies were embraced,

I wish that our mind stored each & every face 

maybe then, the little kid outside Haji Ali Dargah

who was forcing you for biscuits and tea

or that old man outside a temple who called 

every second person his friend or his family

the man in the station who was asking his own address,

or that kid in the train who wiped seats in distress

the bride with a suitcase in hurry to reach someplace,

or that girl who didn't belong in this woman's embrace 

At the time, we were all present right there,

what if these people were those faces that were now rare

I know my words aren't sharp enough to hurt,

and I know you don't have any time to exert

but I request, the next time you see such a poster,

go through it once and get a bit closer

they will like that even with little time to spare,

people stood and read about them with care

who knows with our efforts searching their traces,

we could take back those faces,those missing faces.

ESTIMATED 1,00,000 CHILDREN ARRIVE EVERY YEAR ON 60 MAJOR RAILWAY STATIONS OF INDIA. 

ONLY 35,000 OF THEM ARE RESCUED.