You see me and look away. Know this; all I do is hope!!!
I am the owner of the streets
I know the smell of the air it breathes:
The smell of its rotten beans
And the stale bread I pick from its bins
I know the sting of its murderous air;
Midnight when the sun is not there
I know the frozen tears of the nights;
When we hide from armor-less knight
I am that nuisance your eye meets
In the markets and the cobbled streets
I am the voice that saddles your ears
With pleas, heavy with humble airs
I carved the visage of your scorn:
Ugly like my toe’s errant corn
And my skin’s pleasant fragrance
Puts your nose in a fitful trance
Your eyes crack me like a roasted nut
They tell me you hate me; deny it not
Am I not the seed of a faceless man,
The fetus of a self-murdered woman?
You know not. In the dead of night
Under the stars, my dreams make it all right
And I hope still and argue against reality
As it claws my ragged hope without pity
At your table, you scorn the fleshy bones
Yet for bones, lean, my heart groans
And the garbs that I wear now with pride
Were from your bins and dumps pried.
Wait! If I were the seed of your passion
Would I frolic thus outside the mansion?
So as I roam, my mission uncertain
Plate or purse, give. I remain your heart’s stain.
please give when you can!