Passerby

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 feet,
or get nothing to eat.

though you are not attracted to me,
Nor notice wishes in my face,
or listen to the beat of my heart ,
you saw 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 sweet sound of your laughter.

I asked for my daily bread,
not feelings to fall in vain ,
or imagination which can't be made,
nor wishes which can't be create,
but pain nailed, questions to my heart,

who should we blame,
my everyday question,
the sweet giver,
or me,
the corner sitter.