This modern shack
This urban sprawl
This is Manila
Sunset, nightlife and all.
On a pushcart
One sells art
On another
Lies a family in parts.
Someone’s daughter
Cradling her baby sister
By the roadside
Invisible to passers.
Someone’s mother
Busy touting flowers
To highway pilots
Who don’t seem to bother.
Someone’s brother
Hunched like a scholar
Atop his trash bag chair
A book he devours.
In my clothes I feel rich
In my dignity I feel sick
I can’t think
When she came to me
Palm open
And a look so deep
I felt a kick
She had long ago learnt
Not to yearn
But to live
And wait her turn
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