Under the clouds, where we see
The homeless people scattered on the asphalt
In a mimicry of pebbles
Visible yet camouflaged from our eyes.
The homeless people enshrouded by no one
But our animated restlessness
That ceases for none but our wrist watches.
Our wrist watches that show the time we don't have
To lose over sightseeing
And contemplating the woes of others.
The woes of others?
Don't they hold any weight
Over whatever weight we were born with - and still carry?
The asphalt, the bitumen, and the paved roads
Lead us to their destination by chance
And think of it for a second:
If one of us can lend a tiny hand
Or a piece of our brain,
What difference it can - and will - make?