He sat on the side of the road, his belongings laid down neatly beside him. His deep brown eyes filled with a lifetime of experiences implored to his surroundings with a glint of hope. His hands, cupped together called out to passers by, asking to be noticed, asking for compassion, for a simple sign of understanding. Yet, the people who passed by offered only sympathetic smiles or blank stares and others walked hastily away, pretending not to see him. This morning not even one of them had dropped a single coin in his pleading hands, not even one of them had offered a single kind word or empathetic gesture.
He bent his head, clearly disappointed, though he knew not why – the same thing happened everyday. He held his head in his hands and pulled at his long matted hair. Hugging his knees he rocked back and forth, feeling like a lost child again. But the tears refused to flow for a grief that had too long been harboured.
He looked at the loveless world, and got ready to face it for another day. Slowly, he got up, taking support from his frail arms – declaring to any considerate observer how old and tired he was. He picked up his rag-picking bag and thin blanket and slung them over his shoulder. He started his journey, barefoot, through the city streets, eating anything he could find and picking up anything he could later on sell. He stopped occasionally to weave through traffic, acknowledging the chance that maybe, just maybe someone would help him. Instead, they chose not to see him. As soon as the signal turned green, they hurried off to execute their busy lives, not caring if he stood in front of their vehicle or had passed safely by. He rushed to the safety of his road-side 'home' as quickly as his weak legs would allow him and stare with shock and grief as the car that nearly killed him passed on by. I didn't ask for much, he thought to himself, Why?
He wasn't in search of just money – he only wanted enough of it to survive. What he looked for when he woke up every morning, with an everlasting, illogical faith in humanity, was unsympathetic love. But he only found love of that nature in the mongrel dogs that followed him as he did his everyday rounds. They understood – they were as unwanted, as unfed as he, and as unfit for society's high class standards. He found a loaf of stale bread in a dustbin and ate some of it, then fed the rest to the dogs. They wagged their tails in appreciation – that was the biggest meal they all got that day.
The rest of the day went on as usual. He overhead a conversation between two young girls about not having enough clothes. He looked at them and frowned as he felt the hot sun touch his skin through the holes in his old, old clothes. He found an upturned dustbin and started scavenging in it for food, but a garbage cleaner came and shouted at him for undoing work they'd never done. He looked at him, sorrow in his eyes, and walked away without a word. A middle-aged woman told him off later that day for scaring her baby. Every time he encountered people, he was filled with sorrow, he was hurt – his heart had forgotten the feeling of joy and his face could no longer remember how to smile.
Dusk settled and the songs of prayer emanated from all the holy structures around. He crossed to the middle of the road and got on to the median. He clasped his hands in prayer, arms stretched out to the sky where the sun had been minutes ago. Facing west, he closed his eyes as his withered soul prayed for peace. Prayer complete, he got down from the median and started his way back to the other side of the empty road. From out of nowhere, a car came speeding. Startled, he tried to move out of the way. The driver slowed down, he had seen him this time. A little girl ran towards him, trying to pull him out of harm's way. In the split second before the car reached him, he looked at the little girl, acknowledging that it was okay if she didn't reach him, with understanding in his eyes – and this time, he smiled.
He bent his head, clearly disappointed, though he knew not why – the same thing happened everyday. He held his head in his hands and pulled at his long matted hair. Hugging his knees he rocked back and forth, feeling like a lost child again. But the tears refused to flow for a grief that had too long been harboured.
He looked at the loveless world, and got ready to face it for another day. Slowly, he got up, taking support from his frail arms – declaring to any considerate observer how old and tired he was. He picked up his rag-picking bag and thin blanket and slung them over his shoulder. He started his journey, barefoot, through the city streets, eating anything he could find and picking up anything he could later on sell. He stopped occasionally to weave through traffic, acknowledging the chance that maybe, just maybe someone would help him. Instead, they chose not to see him. As soon as the signal turned green, they hurried off to execute their busy lives, not caring if he stood in front of their vehicle or had passed safely by. He rushed to the safety of his road-side 'home' as quickly as his weak legs would allow him and stare with shock and grief as the car that nearly killed him passed on by. I didn't ask for much, he thought to himself, Why?
He wasn't in search of just money – he only wanted enough of it to survive. What he looked for when he woke up every morning, with an everlasting, illogical faith in humanity, was unsympathetic love. But he only found love of that nature in the mongrel dogs that followed him as he did his everyday rounds. They understood – they were as unwanted, as unfed as he, and as unfit for society's high class standards. He found a loaf of stale bread in a dustbin and ate some of it, then fed the rest to the dogs. They wagged their tails in appreciation – that was the biggest meal they all got that day.
The rest of the day went on as usual. He overhead a conversation between two young girls about not having enough clothes. He looked at them and frowned as he felt the hot sun touch his skin through the holes in his old, old clothes. He found an upturned dustbin and started scavenging in it for food, but a garbage cleaner came and shouted at him for undoing work they'd never done. He looked at him, sorrow in his eyes, and walked away without a word. A middle-aged woman told him off later that day for scaring her baby. Every time he encountered people, he was filled with sorrow, he was hurt – his heart had forgotten the feeling of joy and his face could no longer remember how to smile.
Dusk settled and the songs of prayer emanated from all the holy structures around. He crossed to the middle of the road and got on to the median. He clasped his hands in prayer, arms stretched out to the sky where the sun had been minutes ago. Facing west, he closed his eyes as his withered soul prayed for peace. Prayer complete, he got down from the median and started his way back to the other side of the empty road. From out of nowhere, a car came speeding. Startled, he tried to move out of the way. The driver slowed down, he had seen him this time. A little girl ran towards him, trying to pull him out of harm's way. In the split second before the car reached him, he looked at the little girl, acknowledging that it was okay if she didn't reach him, with understanding in his eyes – and this time, he smiled.
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