A Hunger-stricken Child
Someone knocks on the glittering glass of a posh car,
Someone ruffles the sleek surface of a dead conscience.
Heaps of bones, sheets of muscles -
Can the intruder in the rich man's universe be called a "child"?
He begs for pennies to fill his belly,
He desperately steps onto the car’s sidestep in a last chance of survival.
But to no avail.
Shooed away like a street dog,
The decomposing body distills into tense torment,
Engulfed by the wretched purity of the world's inhumanity.
As each tissue of the body is scarred by starvation,
The child slowly seeps into the sewages of indifference,
Clothed in the nakedness of injustice.
