Tondo

Bedraggled, defiled, more or less
Missing
In the unending sea
Of anonymous homes.


Each block
No more than a copy
Of what he already passed by,
He already saw
Crumbling an inch
Away from private territory.


The squalor, the stink
Taints the nostrils
Making it shrink from
The face, a palette
Of misery, a canvas
Of remorse.


Tomorrow, old age
Is confronted;
Yesterday, it was
Anticipated;
Today it was received
With nonchalance and disgust.


In the clump of the looted land
The child was born
Fatherless, jobless
Mother, siblings
Countless, crying amidst
The pee-smeared
Overused cradle
Now losing two legs.


Underfed, premature, susceptible
As the newborn bird,
The child learned to walk,
Was forced to by
Poverty.


Age one, his bare feet
Wandered on the
Worm-ridden path
To the continuous
Alley of mendicancy,
Of stigmatized homelessness.