The Pavement

It's another day in beautiful London.

One of the richest cities to be known of.
The bitter cold bites your cheeks until they start burning,
The shrivelled trees of winter
Not scared to poke you with their branches, but willing to make home for all.
The many many shops big or small, fancy, funny, funky, all to help you and themselves.
Lastly the Pavement
Rectangular, squared, broken
Smooth or rough
Clean or dirty
It doesn't matter
With me, my blanket and friend/brother/father
this pavement is my home, story and life.
No, I don't have a bed,
No, I don't have a kitchen, and
No, I don't even have a lamp to light up my day.
All doorways rejected my status, rejected my appearance, rejected me.
But I don't need a doorway to enter my home, it will always be steps away from me, with the smell of crumbs, from leftover scraps, ate in less than a minute.
I'm not just a homeless man
I'm a man, a man with dignity, a man with dignity and a loyal
friend.
It's another night in dark London, one of the loneliest cities to be known of
'Friend' is not in the vocabulary
'Enemies' is in the top charts
The doorways you go through will define you
Life is tough here and everywhere so good luck my dear reader.
                           
P.S. To all homeless people. You are HOUSEless, your home is wherever you are so don't give up.

By Stephania Ogburie