Journey

Disheveled dusty hair

Tattered clothes...

Little boy on the street.

Begging at the traffic stop

Knocking on the car window,

And pressing his nose on the glass..

Unmindful of the coins

Stretched out to him..

He stood in a reverie.

Still with the face

Pressed on to the glass.

Lamps, red turned yellow

And then green...

Traffic moved in a rage

Behind, there was a lifeless

Pair of tender eyes

Streets,traffic, street boys..

Complex..are our highways..

Of emotions..and lives.

Born out of our passion,

Blanketed once with love..

Held as our future..

They are,

Now distorted pressed faces

On the glass windows..

Is he a street boy..,?

Or.. my boy on the street..?!

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            Rtv 16.4.2011