A Man Without A Name
I see him often along the street
of Kolding Train Station
A black man with his curly hair
that seems not to have been washed in years
A man with no smile on his dirty face
A man with a bottle of beer on his lips
and a lighted cigarett
between his finger tips.
What is he doing
along the open road
while others are hurrying
to their place of work?
Why is he having much time to spare
while others claim they
don`t have time and run with stress?
What is he doing along the open road
while others would rather hide
in the comforts of their gold?
What is this lost man doing in an open road,
when he stands without a name,
a story to tell, honour and shame?
Why do we find many more like him
without their names, who find the open streets
as their home to dwell?
Comments about this poem (A Man Without A Name by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen )
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