Alone

we walk alone

hand-in-hand

down the crowded, chaotic street

the anonymous faces of abandoned people

dirty hands reaching out for some shillings

the fast motorcycles and cars

we walk on

past the temples and the coffee shops

around the drains and the many obstacles

by ourselves

we walk

without illusion

we suffer

only the silence of the burning sun

past the mourners dressed in black

past the open doorway

and the old photo

and open coffin

we walk on past the roasted duck

hanging on hooks

past the hawker

sharpening his chopper

without words

we walk

down the street

by Hugh M. Lewis