I’m an execrable creature, dwelling on lanes anonymous,
A destitute, a victim of my own destiny, precarious.
Society looks down upon me, an orphan, a homeless,
A condemned soul, in misery and despondency ceaseless.
Sans belongings, sans heirloom, sans identity,
Panting and gasping in the whirlpool of vulnerability.
Exposed to the tyranny of the Sun and the frost,
I feed on morsels begged or charity tossed.
No opportunity, no possibility to start afresh,
I’m a silent witness to the tableau of delight and distress.
I can’t be employed, for I lack certificate and certitude,
Wrapped by a blanket of questions, I’m such a feud.
Dealing with the safety guards is a daily tribulation,
I sleep in the open, privacy provokes stabbing and strangulation.
My sense of dimension is sand-blind, mystifying,
Times current, prior or ensuing are equally harrowing.
With fraying vitality, I die a bit every day,
There’s is none to mourn over, on my final day.