Boy of Streets - Poem by Rojan Dahal
Boy of streets - Rojan Dahal Everywhere is my home Without walls and neither a window But no smaller than yours It has all the comforts that the world knows There is no doorbell nor a door Not even someone who cares and to knock The floor is pitched and some parts green my food is there and a bed to sleep Your friends drive pass by And mine bark at them All admire your fragrance But mine they hate My father is a chef of the god and mother his maid Yours work untiringly But mine they rest You didn’t choose your life Neither did I Your happiness lies Within the boundaries Made from the mud of my floor But mine fly as high as the sky