As a boy, he never knew the meaning of a roof,
Living among the stars, and gutter walls,
Climbing trees and mountain peaks,
Just to survive as days went passing by.
This little boy, knew no other life,
Than the life on the lonely streets,
Where insults were given more generously than food,
And best friends were these means of stealth.
Feeling the emptiness of hunger and cold,
As he slept on the hard sidewalks,
Yet still he dreamed of doing great deeds,
For what are dreams but the voices of our heart?
So this little boy, who never drowned in tears,
Threw away from himself the basest of his fears,
And took it upon himself to be a great man,
Yet told himself to never forget his humble roots.
It was a challenging road, he chose to take,
Trying to learn without being taught,
Sometimes finding he must choose between two wrongs,
The obstacles blocking the road were endless.
His eyes shone brightly as he studied on the streets,
His thirst for knowledge burning brightly,
Days passed by, days which turned into years,
And he grew to be a made man, off the streets.
No more sleeping on the sidewalks under the rain,
Nor doing petty tasks to make a penny for grain,
Yet as he walked down the roads of his childhood,
He remembered the feeling of poverty.
And when bright eyes peeked through the shadows,
Helpless, cold, and hungry,
The now turned man passed on the gift of knowledge,
As the greatest gift one can give to the helpless.
When one sets their mind to achieve something,
When one decides that they must learn,
What are obstacles but petty nuisances,
To be forgotten, once overcome.