Under the clouds, where we see

White clouds on a blue sky

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?