We are the watchmen of street

We are the unpopular populace

We are like a popular song

that never graces the ear;

a corpse flower to you

 

While you have a sound sleep

engulfed by your soft, big, fat foams

our nights are made sound

by the discordant rhythm of mosquitoes,

while for love your hands are wrapped 

around your loved ones

our bumpy, dried freezing arms

are the only shield our children hide in

 

We are the celebrated…

we are the manure for their pride;

to feed their ego and reputation

the moneyed and mighty,

with our burning dry lips

we compulsory sing their praise;

our stomachs a desert of affliction

yet the flaunt a handful (trucks) of rice on our face

yet gives us a grain to take home

ever promising but like a wild ghost their promises

 

We are baits in the hands of the opportune

we are the security for looters…government alike;

we are the security without value for their loans

but we are an unsecured security;

while you yet tighten your bolt to ensure safety

we are left to the hoodlums and the dark virus

 that sweeps like wild fire across our lands

we are always on their lips but never in their heart

 

while you race your street; sunrise and sun fall

to let go your full stomachs

we sleep to reserve the remnant in our bellies

we are the most talked about

but never cared about

 

While you are cautioned to stay in your shelter

and the street be like a dark swampy grave yard

we become the watchmen for you

we keep your streets, bridge and slums alive,

while you seal your nose for safety

we open ours to breath out our exhaustion

the rustling of our intestine sing us lullaby to sleep

 

Do you not know yet who we are?

we are the reflection on your mirrors

while you pass our street we smile

to impress you with our weak dim smile

there is no greater courage than that

we bury our pride underneath the rocks

of our vulnerability so we can live

while you wind- up your windows…

our helplessness are brought to bear

 We cross your thought but never stay in them

you miscarry our thoughts

like an unfortunate pregnancy

 

Show us your empathy we beseech thee

sip a bit from the cup of our grief

may be it bitterness will make you keep us in heart

we are the heart of your street

we beacon you to feed us with your remains

as you hide to your shelter

 let our thought remain with you