Struggling

Men on street
Hawk till weak
Struggling for food
Inside ghetto and hood
Chasing their future
Alas! They call it nature.

Street keeps us alive
For on it, we work to outlive
The obscurities of life
With all the egos we conceive.

Healing from the street
Rest deprived us
We are crumbled and unfit
Like an exhausted arched horse
Awaiting death’s visit
Knowingly, “wishes meant for few”.

Daily prayers remain our pride
Which keep our hopes alive
And nevertheless have us denied
For in it,inclined our hopes of life.

Street is my mansion
Either during the rainy
Or promptly sunny
For in it, I found solace seclusion!

Hustlers never die
But gain power to rise again
To flourish sorrow with smile
While awaiting and never refrain
The downpour of mercy from the One in the sky.

Hardship is our friend
That let known to us our fiend
But when days become grown
And our pains fade off by cool breeze blown
Then replaced with pure happiness
Behold! We shall eulogise the essence of my Lord Greatness.

Tell my mama not to cry
Tell relatives not to sigh
For on the street I rely
Is where stress and happiness are struggling to neck same tie
To be garnished with sparkling smile.

Tell her “street is not that bad”
And as cruelty place as she always think of
Though street folks may find it hard
To earn that compassionate love
Of everyone, especially, “Mum and Dad”
But be informed enough
All those folks you visioned as mad,
In the dye of honour, their names engulf!

Tell her I am the son of soil
Walking, working and hawking on street
Despite all its turmoil
The goals I laid, I shall meet
And ye shall hear nothing, Mum/Dad
But the drum of Joy.

Written by Aanat