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