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suppose you aren't assured of the next meal
upon your head rules the sky
maggots are feeding on your free will
better seems the option to die.

suppose you've none to give company
not a soul to call your own
days seem to crawl with no hurry
nights only make you more alone.

suppose open road is where you stay
sometimes a tree to beat the sun
people are bent on moving away
you've no home for day-end run.

suppose you've nothing called privacy
can't afford the luxury of shame
you relieve yourself for all to see
don't recall if you ever had a name.

suppose you've to scavenge from dustbin
your dignity is trampled like road's dirt
could they all make you feel a poem within
write a line crystalline in your heart?
this is the moon's
quiet rose, the unfolding
of the clouds, tranquility
resting her head,
the beautiful sea.

— The End —