The Story About Passers-by

The place of the old road,
in the dust,
the poor beg every day
begging for a crust of bread.
Day, night, summer, winter,
in the rain and sun, Fridays and holidays
outstretched hand prays.
In the distance are the lights of the metropolis,
sadness of the suburbs
stirs in the darkness.
The baby cries for hunger,
a helpless mother

comforting and hugging him
with her dusty hands.
In the cold night
a groan echoes
of the poor people,
neglect of the minority
filled with pain.
Poverty and sadness, life goes on.
A sky is spilled
with mysterious stars,
the wind narrates
the story about passers-by.

© Ivan Gaćina