The child on a street.

The water is pouring from the skies.
their body is wet,
But there's no moistness in their eyes
I try to feel their life of blood and sweat
But my heart must have frozen like ice.
In a day I see them just once twice or thrice.
and then I retreat to my life full of lies.

On my windscreen and my window they knock.
the thougt of my offering makes them flock.
The light turns from red turns to green
And I diassper into life in a fast lane,
But day after day the scene remains the same.

Their life it seems is an unopened lock.
No one to guide them to a key,
No one to help them see.
Their Childhood robbed, their future clogged.

If God was true then why were they born,
to suffer a life of indignity and burn.
If he doesn't exist then who can I blame
Do I question a nation and it's fame
or Do I retreat that it's a shame

Why do I have what I do, why do they live the way they do.
I have a child their same age,
to him the world doesn't seem like a cage.
When they see him will their hearts not fill with rage ?
How can we write their lives on the same page.
In the act of a nation will they remain at the same stage
Why act, why write our history, if we cnnot make their life change.

(inspired by an unknown child begging for alms on a rainy day. Rain or sun I see her everyday. Can I do something to change her life ?. Will I do anything to change her life?. I don't know)