Rolling in life's cradle

he rolled in degenerated senses,
like a child on a soft bed of roses,
seeking answers to his life,
his face showed no pain,no anger,no hate,
all these had long passed him by,
he rolled there resigned to his helpless fate,
made even more helpless by the people walking by,
seemingly unaffected by the daily sights.

long,heavy hair stuck out from his spotted and wrinkled face,
his crumbling body had no pillars to support,
the stilts of life had been chopped to half,
couldn't walk along anymore in life's race.

a ragged cloth covering his chest,
and folded pants showing off the deepest scars,
not a single rupee in his tin can,
and all god's child did was roll.
roll away into oblivion.

and years ago,
rolling still fresh in his mother's womb,
would he have imagined today?