These faces,
As forlorn as fish out of water
What the hell nature's art has become
An image of hardship and pain
With wrinkles of misery
Like gullies,
Defacing their faces.
Empty stomachs reflected
In counterfeited smiles
Famished bodies
And hunger-haunted eyes
Sunk deep in their sockets
Telling tales of no good living.
Wearing skulls of poverty
Like crash helmets
On their hollow craniums
Of impoverished brains.
They dream not.
Not the way the affluent dream
They are not entitled to dream big
Lofty ideas their dreams shall be.
And like dispirited bodies at dawn,
Wander daily with their tired bowls
Kneeling, bending and standing
Begging for alms
Maybe just to eat for the day.
Home is wherever dusk meets them
And nature's call of sleep at night
Is their only refugee
@harrywill 