OWNER OF THE STREETS

You see me and look away. Know this; all I do is hope!!!

I am the owner of the streets

I know the smell of the air it breathes:

The smell of its rotten beans

And the stale bread I pick from its bins

I know the sting of its murderous air;

Midnight when the sun is not there

I know the frozen tears of the nights;

When we hide from armor-less knights

I am that nuisance your eye meets

In the markets and the cobbled streets

I am the voice that saddles your ears

With pleas, heavy with humble airs

I carved the visage of your scorn:

Ugly like my toe's errant corn

And my skin's pleasant fragrance

Puts your nose in a fitful trance

Your eyes crack me like a roasted nut

They tell me you hate me; deny it not

Am I not the seed of a faceless man,

The fetus of a self-murdered woman?

You know not. In the dead of night

Under the stars, my dreams make it all right

And I hope still and argue against reality

As it claws my ragged hope without pity

At your table, you scorn the fleshy bones

Yet for bones, lean,  my heart groans

And the garbs that I wear now with pride

Were from your bins and dumps pried.

Wait! If I were the seed of your passion

Would I frolic thus outside the mansion?

So as I roam, my mission uncertain

Plate or purse, give. I remain your heart's stain.

please give when you can!