This poem is for all those street kids I want to help, but cant…Driven to death by poverty and hunger…Sadly I am no Bill Gates!

My strange dreams of the night.
Disappeared with a bird’s wail
I realised another morning bright
And hoped for an exciting trail

Amidst loud shouts and curses
And the busy life of a modern day
My empty belly threatening ulcers
I seek refuge by a busy subway

Set besides my tools and tragedies
I search for an unkempt muddy boot
Or perhaps the stilettoes of rich ladies
At sight of which I give a hoot

A penny paid for every single pair
But sadly not for the torture faced,
Under the shining sun’s harsh glare
Or the thirst leaving me so dazed

My new pennies not to be spent in vain
The old ones lost on the previous stealths
I ignore a hungry stomach’s sharp pain
No meal could revive my pitiful health

Suddenly a screech, and the road a maze
The magnificient vehicle of my dreams
Looming threateningly at my face
Then blackness amidst harsh screams