Street Nights Of a beggar.

Street Nights

Some score years ago, in a footpath lane,
I was reading a visual story, full of pain.
Wind used to put a thin towel over his filthy body,
Left leg shivering,dirty,
fighting and quarreling with the right one
To get inside the towel.

Right hand outside,tight,
Over my hip,
singing a bedtime rhyme to me, in the night.

It wasn't working; sun is still floating in the sea,
Waited to let the moon glow out to shine his glass, for his will.
so he can stagger in his dream with an empty stomach and a voracious mind.

And a groan, moments later,
groan describing all his day,
And a dream speech with some pick-up lines,
praising all the beautiful women of his time,
And a smile, and a smile.
Hours followed to open his eyes before the sun wake up breaking the dawn,
Before the moon close it's eyes.

He wore a coat through the throat
Off the glass for a warm night, thereby,
And lit a candle to die as quick
to let me smell darkness in a warmth.

The very first streetwalker and his unnoticed kick
be the morning alarm to that weak,
signifying,
street is to walk not to slumber.

#untold_impacts_on_beggars_life.
#portion_of_my_new_drama_drama_on_its_way...