At a School of the Poor

I visited their school the other day,
A welcomed guest at the back of their class.
They glanced at me from time to time,
Shy smiles that brightened the day,

I saw signs of want everywhere,
Campaign bags, stationery and clothes,
Given to the hardcore poor at public events.
Children who have not been anywhere,
Unfamiliar with gigantic Aeon some minutes away.
Of strife they are blissfully unaware.

I saw young minds shackled by want,
Who run and play at recess time,
not tied to tiny screens with whistles and bells.
Rough hands hardened by work.