Saturday, August 10, 2019
Hustle is the name, Survival is the game.
No garlands to put on their shoulders, yet they stand gallant against all odds.
The Streets, where real men are carved.
The Streets, where men of sterner stuff are moulded.
Against the harsh and fiendish cold they dig in.
The Streets, is all man for himself.
Like the jungle, it is a hunt for game.
The Streets, where Champions are manufactured.
The Streets, the crucible where gold is purified.
The hustle is real, they break every sweat, fingers get dirty.
The Streets, not for the fainthearted.
May look like scum of the earth and live in the slums.
The Streets, Beauty and the Beast, Brain and Brawn are characters in the plot.
The Streets, never say die is their mantra.
They are no heroes and villains.
Only fighters and winners.
The Streets, for the bold and beautiful.
They beat the odds even when they're not given a dog's chance.
The competition is fierce, the rivalry is intense.
Under the torrential rain and scorching Sun they muscle for every morsel.
The Streets, Hustle is the name, Survival is the game.
I was born in the Streets, I'll die in the Streets.
Topic(s) of this poem: bravery,struggle,survival