Born To The Streets

Born into shadows where no light shines,
A child forgotten, lost in the lines.
His first cry echoes in the cold,
A life of struggle, a story untold.

His mother, weary, her hands worn thin,
Fights a battle she’s destined to never win.
No food to offer, no shelter to give,
They eat from the trash—this is how they live.

The pavement his cradle, the world full of rage,
A life on the streets, trapped in a cage.
No love, no warmth, no comfort at all,
Just strangers who walk by, too blind to call.

He watches the others, the lost and the broken,
Survival a game with every word unspoken.
He sees them snatch, sees them fight,
To survive in the dark, out of the sight.

He’s learned that kindness won’t fill his belly,
And running is the only way to stay steady.
Each day is a battle, each hour a war,
A boy who’s seen things no child should endure.

The world keeps turning, but it’s always too late,
Each step he takes, he carries his fate.
Too young to understand, but old enough to feel,
That love is a lie when pain is too real.

No one will notice, no one will care,
He’ll keep running, always in despair.
The pennies dropped are whispers in wind,
A fleeting reminder of a world that’s pinned.

For this boy, survival means breaking inside,
A soul that’s been crushed, but refuses to hide.
He runs, he fights, he breaks and he falls,
But no one’s there when he answers life’s calls