Sisters starving, brothers begging.

Mothers mourning, fathers folding



When I look in the mirror I see:

A boy not a man

The son of a father I refuse to understand

The "brother" of a brother like a wound I neglect

The coward of a sister with the world I forget

The prodigal son, but I am yet to return

From a siege where I take refuge but I want to watch burn

Your lover, your companion, your champion, your friend

Forever by your side but not in the end



The fortunate son who dwells in the city,

With the poorest of the poor, still, I ask for your pity



And while there's a man who sleeps on the ice-cold streets

His godsend not in me, but in his cardboard: his sheets



Yet



I still see the same son.