The lady.

The homeless lady

A familiar silhouette against the  sun,
That colors the aging day that had begun,
People clamor to reach their nests,
Before the sky burns in the west.
The silhouette greets me with a humble smile,
The lady recognizes me from a mile.
Hello! she greets me, how was your day,
Please listen to me, I know what you are going to say.
That you are late and have to run,
You are late and yoga class has begun,
She said it with such confidence,
Encapsulating a plea of despondence,
I did not want to condescend,
By twirling my wrist, by trying to pretend.
That she is vitreous humor to my eye,
An Invisible lump of flesh to sight.
A hollow silhouette that blocks our way,
Always and has vile things to say.
About her poverty, about hunger,
Can't she disappear other than linger,
In those streets that we tread,
On our way to earn our bread.
But I am human after all,
Can't spectate and be mute as a wall.
I have a heart and have compassion,
To help someone is not transgression.
So I asked her what she wanted,
She said food and that was granted.
I brought her food to feed her hunger,
My soul found something that I hanker,
Food for peace for a famished soul,
Stripped of compassion in a mechanical world.