Thy skin. Burned by the raging heat of the mighty sun.
Thy face. Painted with a shadow of grief.
Thy eyes. Has lost hope but willing to take chances.
Thy smile. Momentarily substitute the ever lasting pains.
Thy body. Evidence of the what so called poverty.
Thy heart. Bruised by societal discrimination.
Thy feet. Crumpled and strengthened by the dusty and rocky road.
Thy ears. Deafened by all the unsolicited screams.
Thy back. Hardened by the burden and load they carry.
Thy hands. Toiled with undying urge to live.
Thy treasure. Someone else’s garbage.
Thy sweat. Sign of the unwanted tiredness.
Thy food. Someone’s leftovers.
Thy clothes. Torn and dirty, but covers thou from the cold nights.
Thy screams. Loud but unheard.
Thy sorrows. Left unsaid.
Thy hope. Disregarded.
Thy home. The streets.
Thy journey. Endless.
Thy strength. LIFE.
Thy called. BASURERO!
We all suffers… We have different perspective in seeing what life is. We don’t get to have everything in life. What important is we should be happy and content of what we have.
ReplyDeleteIt is only when we truly know and understand what life is that makes us appreciative of what we have and suffered.
__Kitkat___
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ReplyDeletethis is indeed a wake up call to the harsh realities of life, whenever i see street kids, I always tell my children how luky they are and they should pray and be thankful of it.
ReplyDeleteralph....as ive said....i got that poem tribute to a basurero....i dont know how come our ideas are almost the alike....un nga lang,u have the real skill and talent of putting in the right words everytime....this is ur best work for me....it should be read by the whole world.....IDOL KITA!!!!
ReplyDelete-kuya bogs