The busy sidewalk is littered,
Of waste and unwanted morsels,
There's deprivation and poverty,
The raging soul has to drift.
There are no genuine smiles,
Only taut, lean faces haunting,
The few, overflowing pockets,
As silence of wind is deafening.
There is no soothing coolness,
The fire keeps on burning inside,
To smolder the wandering spirit,
Till even the calmness is shamed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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