I am cold...

I am cold...wet...
.....drenched to the skin under the rain.
No where to rest my filthy, skinny and tired body.
The typhoon strongly hit our place
      leaving people homeless, hungry, desolate..
I envy them for they only have it now..

Me? For the longest time I have been searching around, anywhere, everywhere..
       a narrow space on a pavement in a dimly lit street corner is all i want
where I can lie down, stretch my body and close my eyes..
       and dream that I would never open them again.

What good will it bring to see the world in the morning...
      where all the debris and remnants of the typhoon are scattered?
No one will even notice my frail body on the ground
      alongside with the ruins, the debris from last night's ravaging storm...

Everyday, the storm of poverty hits me....repeatedly and with no mercy..
      No food, no home, no one around to keep me warm...
          Just me..

           And so, I am always.....cold.


Note: I wrote this poem last  night as I remember the little girl lying on a piece of cardboard outside the gate of St. Paul the Apostle Parish in Quezon City. I wonder where could she be at the height of Typhoon Pedring? God, save her please....I am sorry, I can only pray for her at the moment.   
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Image credit : Google

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