Oftentimes you will see her
humming her emptiness
to the death freezing hands of mortality,
shouting her pleas
(which often go unheard)
to the wild blue yonder...
rests the doom;
the home of the wretched.
On the harsh, hot street
she wanders 12-16 hours a day
while some of us neglect and shudder...
burn the bitter truth
through the idleness with mad remarks...
Some of us just walk through parks
caring less of the images in our eyes
having deaf ears for the innocence...
by her, little babies cry,
with her, little young ones sigh...
searching for their fate on the street
scavenging through trash
for something to eat.
Hell is real to a youth of no voice...
watching cars, selling flowers in the morn,
begging for food at noon
and when night time comes...
She find strength from inhalants;
Glue, Rugby and drugs became her Gods...
to momentarily empower
where she pretends to fly away
and yet only in her memory.
Such a frightful picture it is
for a potential girl to grow up in,
accepting the cold nights of reality...
Her dreams never come...
She screams but is never heard...
She hides her fears of the dangers;
sickness after years of breathing exhaust fumes
harassment from extortionists,
often policemen and peers.
And in the heart of the innocent
where joy is less and pain hides pain,
she joined a group, The Gang,
a choice to a path towards darkness
where the devil stones cuts the flesh of the soul;
yet it never bleeds.
A life in a cage where endless woes are introduced
The battle of life and death
In the Street's activities
PICKPOCKETING is a little bit thrilling
in PROSTITUTION, agony is a true hope
DRUG ABUSE is tempting...
In her dark devastating demise
where her home has never been a paradise
subtle tremor ripping at her core...
She looks at us
but some of us don't see her...
and there she cries
with the street children...
the valuable lives
T R A G I C A L L Y