The street corner here, is filled with the tapping
of slow shoes, children dragged by their mothers
in tantrums, for more reasons of joy, ice-cream cone
that costs three meals in another country, or a pair of slippers
for another cold boy. Sometimes I wonder
why these streets are wider with pavements
isn't a street just a passage?
on the corner, sits an artist, who leaves paint cans open
dripping yellow paint on his shoes, on the hairs
of a girl who sleeps in rags under direct sunlight
in luxurious apartments I have seen people praying for rain
in the midst of a summer that seems endless
on the street corner I pray for rain,
to have and hold a mother's tears from paining the rich shoppers' mercy on the street.