Evening have descended into the city
and lights shone brightly like jewels from lamp posts lining up the street.
I looked, and from my upstairs room’s window saw trees.
A kind of sweet revelation, it was, as I seemed not to notice them before,
dwarfed as they were by the concrete forest that have sprung up,
as it seems, like mushrooms in the intervening years
between their childhood to what is now.
I looked, and see you… you who are poor.
And as you make the sidewalks and street corners your place of
rest for the night,
cars hurried on, to and fro,
oblivious like marching ants intent on their own business.
It started to drizzle and I shiver…
feeling more keenly the cold that was to come,
knowing you have no choice but to endure it
with scraps of cardboard as blankets.
You fear as I fear. You hurt as I hurt.
But what about hopes and dreams, do you have any left?
Do you still cling to them as a branch to a vine?
Or have hopelessness forced its feral presence,
and with suffering and loneliness burned them all into ashes?
I wonder… yes, I wonder.
I, a stranger looking out, from my warm and safe cocoon,
looking out… and seeing you.