I saw him
Small hands, washing plates and dishes
I saw him, working on a chilly day
Instead of pen and paper; picking leftovers
Sacrificing his emotions and dreams for serving tray
Walking miles from home to work and back
His legs attacked by pebbles and spar
Cold breeze hitting the hilly road
His destiny is both faint and blur
His childhood crushed to earn daily
Shouldn’t be there any aid for his dreams?
Eyes full of drops remained lamenting ever
He spent his whole life in family screams….