He wore tattered clothes,
And shoes with holes,
His hair matted and sweaty—
He smelled rotten and dirty.
He’d extend his hand every now and then,
Begging passerbys for spare cents,
With the hopes of dinner after many days,
Without even a sip of water that didn’t smell like decay.
Life was truly hard,
Especially for a beggar,
Who spent his days and nights on the streets,
With nothing to eat.
Few people would stop out of pity,
And gave him little of what they had plenty,
Most avert their eyes, making him invisible—
For they too were plenty miserable,
Yet I shamelessly stare,
At this man who’s stripped bare,
Of all necessities and luxuries,
Without any option but to live on the streets.
I don’t feel any pity,
Only understanding sincerely,
For one can have everything,
And still have nothing.

FOR SALE: imported handicrafts


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