The Street

Streets jumps from The blind, deaf and dumb night To the dutiful activeness. The eyes of the street Opens to the crowd As the blossom Unfurl its petals to the beetles. The street, All throughout its life, Clings its eyes to the throng Sharpens its ears to the vestige The crowd, the trot That passes have distinct sweetness. The footsteps that rings with the anklet Of the calm, young ladies Is an adornment To its flow of life. The harshness of the Busy steps Marks strong scars In the iota of each grit The lane undergo A vibration Due to the grief Of the orphan, The widow, the helpless And so on. The avenue Is the home for The homeless, Is the stake For the old, Is helping hand For the helpless, Is the husband For the widow, Is the father For the orphan. Its everything For everyone. The acts of the pathway Is never ending, It crosses the universe And even the heaven. And the street says, “ I will be there Unless you turn your Face from me” To all who give it a touch.