I passed a young man on the street,
It was nearly a month ago.
With eyes firmly toward his feet,
He never looked up to say hello.
I wonder why he stared so hard,
Was he lost or scared or shy?
Was he chased away from a schoolyard?
Was he fighting the urge to cry?
Now I walk along this path tonight,
And find myself on a foreign street.
But I always walk with my head upright,
I trust my wandering feet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem