I see him now, as I walk up,
in between the shopping stores,
and the cafés that litter the pavement ahead.
A man, nay, a boy, in his luminous orange vest,
with those three words: The Big Issue.
I hear his cry; 'Big Issue Sir? No? Have a nice day'
'Big issue madam? Your ok, have a nice day'
It makes me sick to my stomach,
to think that flesh and blood,
could be so ignorant and uncaring.
You can hear them as they go, muttering,
'Tsk, must be a druggie', or, 'it's their own fault'.
He sees me approach, and asks me,
'Nah thanks mate, I'm ok', I say.
Then I stop a few feet away,
The rain begins to pour down,
and this boy, is stood in it,
trying to make some money for food.
How could i be so heartless?
I run over to him, and hand him £2.
His face beams with a smile,
I think i may be his first customer today,
he dives in his change bag, and i stop him,
'It's ok mate, keep the change'.
He looks at me, with that look that people do,
as though i had given him the greatest thing in the world,
when to me, it was nothing.
I guess, even the little things matter when your on your own...
So next time you pass a homeless person,
stop and think, could you live rough?
Without the comforts of home,
without the luxuries that money brings...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem