Through every breeze and frost
Through every winter time and summer time
People see a man of no dignity
People see a man of pity
If only they knew the love I carry
The grace I have, of tackling each day
The joy of still being able to recycle-the love
To hope and to reuse the hope to faith.
This is home
Circumstances turned to monsters
As warm as you are in your home
As warm as I am in these busy streets
Don’t be amazed
Every minute turns to an hour which turns to a day
And after every other day
I am at home, merged with circumstances
Merged with pity
Merged with tears
Merged with shame
“How did I get here?”
How about,
“How are you still surviving?”
And I will answer:
“My circumstances turned to home
just like the bottles I collect for recycling
that turn into beautiful products,
no matter where they come from.
With pure embrace of being something one day,
or maybe never.”