The main street whitened.
It’s snowing outside,
in this moonless evening.
Squirrels look out their burrows.
Owls try to find shelters on top of the high leafless trees.
Across the Street, walks a homeless boy,
trembling...
trying to cover himself with his arms.
No family, no house, no toy.
Walking barefoot into suburbs,
is his thing.
Nothing left but his memories.
Nothing left but his nightmares.
Nothing left but his fear.
He walks on the wet asphalt,
and the cold mud.
He looks into windows,
finding a different world;
babies cradled,
others put to sleep,
kids fed,
while playing together,
behind the closed doors,
happily, around their parents,
and around the dining set.
The smells,
of winter dishes spread.
Inciting his appetite.
He lost his family,
Because of, either, devastating wars,
or unfair starvation,
either after reaching the shore,
or before asking for immigration.
Mohammed Arafat
27-12-2019
No matter the degree of happiness we reach, homeless kids should be remembered.
