Swerwerskind

Treetops comfort when the winds howl down the plain. Waves crash with thundering sounds lashing the rocks and sand. And in the harbour boats sway fearfully side-to-side, side-to-side. It’s late afternoon. The Mother City says good-bye to one more smile; one more tear and the soft rain that falls an echo to her solitude. Yet, she is not alone. The big clock keeps seconds at the Parade and flags are a-flutter at the Castle. So too do myriad lights her avenues warm. Then I see them. Fragile figures bending over a rubbish bin. On their faces, painted dirt of days; and tears. Who comforts them? Who is there for their discipline; to still them in times of fear? Do they experience joy and laughter? Street kids. Homeless. Discarded. Wasting on our streets.