In a busy of streets of England

I was running holding a bread only in my one hand , .

Only with one hand it’s hard to survive

I was beaten bby the thick wooden stick on my back I was grudging that bread cause it was my life

In that street where no one sympathise me nor thought of helping me ,they were smiling as if I was apart of circus
We have no right to decide our name these people already gave. Us a name of gutter rat ,that …. That name is nothing to think a small thing

That single thing made me Robb that bread to run around the streets for food nothing matters cause the starvation was worse then death

As a child I have a dream of once having. A family and to enjoy a proper meal with them .

It’s my dream ….

Which never ever is fulfilled

My sparkling innocent eyes save from the fire and blazing house I was thrown in streets ,

I look as a cats and dogs kept in a box

In the middle of rainy streets
But worser there are people who like to take .

I thought , once I met a generous man who gave me a meal for which I don’t have to Robb or suffer but instead he took my hand .

From that day , I realised this people living in glamorous have nothing to give for no reason there’s always some of their own need behind those help .