I’m actually still alive despite my lack of updates. Tonight, I am just gonna post a poem which I’ve written after my Bread Run volunteer service on Friday night. Here we go.
A flight of stairs is all you see,
a makeshift house for 3 in reality.
“Homeless is absent”, you may insist,
Walk around the dark corners, see the myth you have come to believe.
Folded cupboards piled up one by one.
Nothing more than a bed for the night they have become.
Weary faces, they rest on empty streets.
Stop! Disturb them not, let them have a good night sleep.
To sounds of footsteps they wake and jolt,
scars from thieves and bullies, phobia as a result.
Tired spirits they have come to retreat,
a house on the floor made up of mere empty sheets.
Beats and pieces of dirt they can’t dismiss,
all because “I come from Batam” or “Got family to feed”.
Some have chosen this life, we have no say.
But who’s to choose when life decides to head this way.
A dollar or two saved makes a dif.
A comfy mattress, a bed, a thought they can’t conceive.
They struggle to feed, to make ends meet,
Yet get blamed when spaces start to diminish.
A stranger’s smile, in the night it lit,
Just bread and water and they did the trick.
It warms my heart, a deed so small.
Yet hope and dignity they do restore.
Heartbreaks and pains are stories they would tell.
If only you would listen and stay awhile now.
I still distinctively remember on my very first Bread run volunteer experience, someone said to me, “Expect the Unexpected.” And true enough, last night’s food distribution to the homeless was indeed a good reminder. It’s always a pleasant surprise – not only for the receiver, but also for me as a giver. To give is truly the greatest gift.