As thousands stroll through the streets
A Glance of knowing is far too rare.
Is it too much to ask who you are?
My faceless men, with a thousand face
I look deeply into every eye past,
Silently speaking of my hunger through my glance.
Although inside me, the cry is blinding,
For clothes, for food, for a kind word.
As I search for those familiar features, that once held me warm in arms,
A fraction of the pain pounding my heart, trickles down as tears.
For my world has crumbled, and I am lost
I lost my face,
Now I am as faceless as them.
Like fingers passing through a candle's flame, unflinching,
I am not able to touch, the countless you,
Does it hurt not to be seen?
When God gave us all, the gift to see.