Life is good
But not in the streets
There, air is so cold
That you can't like it
The rooms wide open
No roof, no doors, no windowpane

That is what it means
You sleep on the floors
Not really floors , but just hard surfaces,
Across the roads, or any places
Near the streams of water

They call it life,
But what of the smell?
It isn't pleasant
How can it please?
From vehicle fumes, sewage and garbage
And much of it, affect the lungs

What of the food?
"Yes, we eat, with no choice" Both fresh fruits, and much of dumped
We call it a meal
Just a title
With no doubt and strain

But why the rich?
They can't make us reach
The best meals they eat
All they can is to dump it fast
Yes, we appreciate, but why can't they give it fresh?