The boy atop the junk,
Filth below, dreams up high,
Aspirations touching the sky.
Eyes full of wonder,
Hands everywhere,
Waste or treasure, nobody to share.
A comb, a book, hair ties and shoe,
A marble, fridge, a rocking chair,
He poked around, without a care.
His mind, it held the hope of kings,
This was his arena, full of wins,
No catch too small, nothing to lose,
He came up with a clever ruse.
"I'll shut my eyes as my soul wanders,
Let God guide my hand".
He walked about, halting here and there,
His fingers extended with faith,
A knife, a needle, broken glass,
Glistening and lying in wait.
If you think this is a poem,
Think again...
Coz you're the boy and life's the junk -
What are you praying for, and what will you find?
Now open your eyes and hit the grind.
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