Another Old Man

His face was likened to brown crumpled paper,
Shuffling to and fro on his miles long trek.
A trek that led not really anywhere at all.
To the Rescue Mission breakfast fare
Where they all, like him, ate their mush in silence
Amid the clang of pots and pans.
Then off to the library, the race was on
To fight for the newspaper, to read the daily news,
Tho’ he didn’t know why,
He was an outcast, the world was not his,
They wanted no part of him, or ones like him,
His homeless brothers and sisters,
That the world pretends are not there,
Phantoms haunting their streets,
Will O’ The Wisps, here and not there.
Thanksgiving and Christmas were good times, indeed.
He, and others like him, could finally be seen.
For the rich, the well off
The scales fell from their eyes,
For Two months out of the Twelve,
Dishing out food, blankets and clothes.
But take heed
Open your eyes in all seasons and see!
We are all Brothers and Sisters
And the Earth is our home
Treat everyone as family
And no one will be left alone.

pinkyjain pan

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invisibility, homelessness and pinkyjain