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 .