I sit at the corner side of the street,
looking for a giver to give me what to eat,
with hope and expectations I stretch my tin,
waiting to hear someone's feet,
or get nothing to eat.

though you are not attracted to me,
or notice wishes in my brain,
nor listen to the beat of my heart ,
you see the disabled part of me,
not the able person in me.

I see your beauty through your voice,
even if I live in a darker world,
I could still tell your presence,
by the aromatic smell of your skin,
or by the sound of your laughter.

I asked for my daily bread,
not feelings to fall again,
who should we blame,
my everyday question,
my giver, or me, the corner sitter.
Afe Tosin Shola