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
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