A true warrior he is

Taking life by its horns

Embracing his fate without grudges

A true warrior he is

They call him names

Yet he did not to elect

To be born thus

A true warrior he is

The streets are his hut;

Plastics and sacks his clothes;

The trash bins his boutique

A true warrior he is

He dines with flies, dogs and maggots

He wines with snails, frogs and lizards

A true warrior he is

No place to call home

No person to call relative

His only possessions?

Plastics, tins, sacks

I can see a smile on his face

I can hear joy in his laughter

I can detect happiness in his eyes

And I whisper to myself:

This indeed is a warrior in our midst