Every day I see you standing at the robots or shopping malls- with tattered clothes, broken shoes or sometimes bare feet. 

You try to smile, but I see the ultimate pain etched on your face. The dirt on your fragile frame is months of not taking a bath that it’s almost like a second skin.

On the odd occasion when you do smile, I see your yellow-stained teeth. Not a kind word is uttered to you by people as they walk on by. Treating you like a leper. 

Mother Nature is not even kind to you with its constant strong winds and unending storms. 

You have your own storm to deal with, having not been loved. 

Sometimes I see you sleeping at broken bus stops or huddling in the doorways of corner shops-your breath smelling like old fermented wine.

Nobody extends a hand to you, even I am guilty of that, yet I profess to be a true Christian

 and should not be judging anyone. 

Instead, I walk right past you,  fearing you may rob me or accidentally touch me.

What kind of person am I? Where is your mother, brothers and sisters? What happened to you that you landed on these cruel, unforgiving streets? 

I am sure you also had your dreams of success, but somehow it vanished like paper in a gusting wind.

Some of you have art on your body that man can’t trust you? But who are they to judge you? They are not even perfect themselves.

I see you scratching in the filthy rat-infested bins for food, hoping to find something to eat, but mostly coming up empty-handed. Having to contend yourself with another nights sleep on an empty belly. 

A few of you are fortunate and are integrated back into society, but most die on these streets; being given a paupers burial.

We are so quick to judge others, but we fail to see the person we have become. We are like rattlesnakes in the tall grass ready and waiting to strike when we see our next prey.

I don’t know what happens to you, because I don’t walk the same path, but I hope you made it out of these streets.