I walk all alone in the dreary , merciless street
With bare feet staggering on bare grounds
My stuttered shirt both my comfort
And a rag to wipe the tiny rivulets
Flowing from the scorching eyes of heaven

I watch many pass by in different colours and bowties
Yet myself I could not compare
For we do not look alike

Though I hunger and thirst
And cry out to them
With weary eyes of tears
Yet their silver they did not spare

My empty bowl and bowel I stretch
Yet they choose the refuse dump
For I merit nowhere closer to them
Nor a smell of the fragrance of their arms

Daily I hover in the lonely street
Patronized by the multitude
Yet I wander like a ghost with no resting place
Of course, there is none
Since the carton tent is my shelter
And the dilapidated rag my comfy bed

When shall I hear a welcoming voice
Or a beckoning hand
To highlight my worth?