I’ve seen them sob, their faces buried in their palms,
I’ve seen them act all gangster just to live through a day
of their seemingly precarious existence,
I’ve seen them dine from the dump,
I’ve seen them stare at families passing,
I’ve seen them covet for one,
Desolately, none loves a child that wanders the
Streets,
In the streets only the strongest thrive,
The weaklings don’t live to tell the tale,
They’re long forgotten
as their corpses rot, under a bridge,
at the bottom of the river bed
or in a dark chilly alleyway dumpster, all alone,
We presume those who wander the streets are wretched,
Far from redemption,
Little do we know that they too
Had a home, a home that was snatched by the world
for reasons not given.
Muzamir
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