Every day I walk these lonely cruel streets that man tarred in search of someone that will converse with me but no avail.
They ignore my tragic plight in this life. I see men conversing with others. All I see are their mouths moving yet I cannot make out what they are talking about.
They would instead ridicule me because of who I am: A man with no voice. I was born like this.
The torn clothes on my fragile frame speak of years of suffering and utter misery. My parents abandoned me when I was born. And I don’t know why? Why is a man so cruel and so judgemental?
What crime did I commit against them? My bed is wherever I can lay my weary soul. I am tired of fighting with man and explaining to them why I am like this.
My face is so scarred from the heat of the sun that it has marks on it resembling millions of birthmarks on my body.
Sometimes I try to understand what these men in well-dressed suits are talking about when I pass a furniture store that sells these expensive televisions, but in the end, it is the same old story nothing new.
They promise the world, yet they cannot deliver. So should I listen to them?
I cannot help myself for scavenging in those filthy bins for a mere morsel to eat even though dog’s bark at me and chase me away from their affluent area.
I cannot even hear those timeless church bells ring that calls the faithful to prayers.
Yes, indeed, I am alone and still fighting for a place in this unforgiving society.
