MY HANDS, MY PARENTS.

Through writing this poem, is a way that I'm calling for your hands, Lets outstrech our hands to the street children, We're the one to save them, We all want love & we're one love, We're one blood.

Days going harder everytime,
And very gruesome,
Nightmares whenever I
Lay bold head down
On the dusty cold floor,
I call home, and bed,
Rainy days and cold nights,
Nowhere to run to,
Busy arcades, and flooded drainages,
With water and sewages,
The would have been the only place,
Why guards keep at night ?
And suppress me to
Sleep in my bed, verander!

My hands, my parents bought it from,
Gabbage arcade next to diseases street,
My hands, my parents.

Getting off these streets is my dreams,
Having a family and also
Getting my siblings off here,
I work with begging company,
My boss Mr Travellers Pedestrians,
And his stuff
They don't pay me, I'm not paid,
All they say is that,
"I've grown up, and
I know it,
I wanna get off here,
Get a job and get a house,
Nobody I know and,
Where to start from.......
My hands, My parents.

Author's Note

In today's climate in our country, which is sickened with the pollution of pollution,threatened with the prominence of AIDS, riddled with burgeoning racism, rife with growing huddles of the homeless, we need art and we need art in all forms. We need all methods of art to bepresent, everywhere present, and all the time present.
-- Maya Angelou

Reviews

[Rene Velez]

your a fraud you steal peoples poetry and say its yours, be careful poets he's a thief, he stole one of my poems and added it to facebook and thought I wouldn' catch him.