Poem

THE HOMELESS ARE ALSO RESTLESS
The dungeon shiver of helpless homeless
Lay bare their hearts and souls in biting dark of emptiness
Their thoughts form thick clouds
Horrors hovering above their heads.
The threatening noises of their hungry stomachs,
Mixed with squalor sounds of their angry hisses.

All these build their colorful world of sadness
A world of their own where sufferness and struggles,
Battling for survival from hunger and shelterless,
Are rituals and routines of their lives.
Every inches a stuff, every escape a record, every survival a history.

The homeless have no voices
No one listen to them
No one cares, or they expect no one to help them.
No place or home to claim, nor a shelter to sleep
Even the bridges that are tolerance of their pauper living,
No bureaucrat   has the courage to left them alone
Or allow them the access to the bridges!
Sleeps on rocks and park benches for years,
Are rituals they must endure or admire.

Who cares that toddlers or crawling children wails?
They lure impatient child on their shoulders
Under the scorching suns or under biting nights.
Only the mothers listen, so they console blubbering father less
Will they endure the brunt without helping hand?
The homeless are aslo restless.
HABIBU GENTE
21st Jan. 2017