The Indian Marathon Boy

Once upon a time in a faded corner of India, a poor man and a slum-boy captured the hearts and souls of the rural masses....This is their story....Feb 2005-Feb 2010 (source:Storyville, Marathon Boy) 

Small pink threadbare plimsolls,
Upon tiny baby feet,
Crowds in excited frenzy,
Line both sides of the street,

He keeps running, eyes cast down,
Under five years old,
Head moves of an Indian dancer, 
A baying mob for him alone,

His mother sold Budhia long ago,
800 rupees was the price, 
A street pedlar who got drunk,
Threw stones at him at night,

But to his rescue- an angel,
Coach of local Judo Hall,
Biranchi Das was slum kids saviour,
He tried to help them all,

He saw the sparkle in this kid,
High hopes Olympic dreams,
Trained him every single day,
Stamina runs past dirty streams, 
    
Boy ran for over seven hours,
Covered forty two hard miles,
Collapsed, projectile vomited,
Faded out to toothless smiles,
  
The slum boy became a hero, 
Of hope from povertys ruin,
Media interest followed them,  
A political storm was brewing, 

Child welfare were snooping, 
Nothing to do instead? 
Biranchi he was demonised by men,
Who ripped him from his bed,

Childs mother back on the scene,
When she heard of sponsorship deals,
Got Budhia to recite lies so mean,
About the man who'd provided his meals,

As fame hung heavy in the air,
So came heavy handed police,
No-one had bothered about the boy,
But now everyone wanted a piece, 

Boy was back with errant mother,
Slanders against the coach were dropped,
Biranchi was gunned down by a coward,
Pool of blood surrounds coloured flip-flop,

His funeral was a mass celebration,
Of the kids he'd helped over years,
They said his corpse was laden with flowers,
And his body was soaked through with tears.