Walking, strolling down the road, beneath the summer heat…
Passersby smile at the sight, but never stop to question why.
Why in solitude he walks,
At his age without a cause,
Without a penny for some feed,
With no where in this world to sleep.
With nothing on his mind but tears thus he weeps,
Living on dirty streets.
The child in the valley, innocent and sweet,
At age 3 he didn’t know he’d grow to see,
Days wherein he’d have to be,
Alone and lost on this street.
He loved his mother, it broke his heart,
When in a drunken rage his father would pound her hard,
On that day he still believed,
In dreams that he knew he must meet.
On his way he sought still seeks,
From a distance he stood and watched
A lover’s quarrel, standing on the porch of a house
On 54th Street, he watched
As father pinned mother down,
As his mother was hit till there came no sound,
Till father turned and saw him along with the others in the crowd outside what was once their haven – their house.
The child yet so innocent, so sweet
Fled the scene from 54th street
Wanting to forget and break free.
Ten years have passed,
He doesn’t live his dreams
Because his fears have scarred him so deep.
Alone in solitude I see him walk,
Beneath the summer heat…
He has no place to go, no house of his own.
He remains the child in the valley,
Innocent and sweet.
By – Paromah Sen
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