Every day I see his skeletal frame pass me by he doesn’t even greet me. I don’t even know his name to me he is just another person.
The stench on his fragile frame smells like death as if he belongs in an unknown grave far away from the city.
The clothes on his frame hang as he picked them up from some unknown dump.
The scars on his body look like he was in some war that I don’t know of. His breath smells like sour vinegar or years old cheap liquor.
He shivers from Mother Nature’s unkind wrath. Eventually, as time went by him the ghost of yesteryear with him knowing about it.
His home was everywhere where he could lay his head. In my mind, I doubt he had a morsel to eat but what could I give him me he was already departing this world I call home.
But my conscience got the better of me then I gave him something to eat. At that moment my life changed.
Slowly but surely he told his tragic story, my soul drowned in some dark murky river never to be resurrected again.
He told me this is what man did to me by judging me. I was always the one to help others and this is what I got a smack in the face.
Today no one wants to know me. I am nobody a person without a name. Not long after that, he left the world but in truth he taught me a lot.
Never judge or criticise or point fingers at others. Because in the end remember you are not perfect at all.