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STREET GHOSTS


He fades at the backdrop of our world. Our daily hustle drowns his image off our minds. Better things, you say, needs to fill our minds. The raggedy frame, the tragedy we met across the way. The one poverty knows by name. Limping on a bad leg or leaning by the poster ridden wall under a bridge. Eyes accustomed to hunger searching for pity. Pity, is the ghost of all worlds’ mega city. Pity is the horror of the rich’s consciences, the reminder of our frail humanity. The bowl in his hands is empty but some sunny day it’s filled with stipends. Oh the stipends he greatly adore and bless wouldn’t buy a dog’s food. But he greatly appreciates, though it’s below our dog’s breakfast, the most expensive breeds.

Our lips speak more than our pockets do. He is nauseating to the eyes. Like a zombie, he terrifies our sight. Debased or deformed we barely wait to find out. We dare not breathe the air he breathes. We dare not approach him without calculated steps. Unworthy in our modern world, isn’t he? Yet, he is the only one that reminds us how ragged our consciences is. He is the carefully piled garbage within our ironed suits and perfect dresses. Poverty is the infamy of the modern world. Now a blasphemy in houses of worship too you know?

The wrinkly and feeble man looks toward the sky. He dares his maker face to face, but the sun steals His gaze away from him. He thinks about many decisions gone wrong or curses why he went blind. When you see him again, will you brighten his day? Will you drop beyond the stipend in his bowl without expecting back? What you drop is not money but tiny drop of kindness and hope. The contents of his begging bowl are his life for the next day. Be grateful when you come his way. On the outside he is you and I on the inside. We are creatures in desperate need always. We are poor in one or more areas of our fractured lives. We are all beggars of something; his needs just differ from yours.


Whoever mocks poor people, insults their Creator. Proverbs 17:5MSG

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