He walks like any other day,
Through the streets' sidewalks, and
When necessary, crosses them to
Become part of traffic and peoples'
Minute seconds of consciousness.
Ragged patents from his pants,
Stained with oil and charcoal; his
Shirt properly matching the pants
With stains of fallen ordor beneath
And the peoples merely take a glimpse
From the corner of their eye while trying
To maintain a picture of their
Obligated task and luxurious sight of
Efficient living, they lose the
Reality of empathy and compassion,
No, they have it, but surpress it, with
The forced separation from empathy.
But he moves along, he knowns not
The lives of them peoples,
But simply keeps quiet, and works
His way inside a garbage,
Hoping to find life and cope
With it, in order to not feel
Surpressed by the lives of the peoples.