In the dead of night
I wake from deep slumber,
struggling to recall the place.

Silence engulfs the air,
a wavering question mark,
adds to my weariness.

A loud crash startles me,
Leaping from my cosy bed,
I rush to the lone window,
straining my eyes to peek,
the darkness scattered around.

Beneath a distant footbridge,
a couple weep softly,
under flickering streetlights.
Their words evade my ears,
refusing to settle
my urge to know.

Why argue there,
at this hour,
shattering the night's calm?
Was it the truck that crashed-
their home being wrecked?

The veil of darkness revealed-
their only blanket dragged-
a ragged cloth full of holes,
yet their only shield-
the last thread of dignity.

An old man and his wife,
toiling day after day,
homeless under the vast sky,
quelling hunger,
still holding on.

The blindfold slipped away-
an emotional wave
rose to swallow me
and my restless mind.

I sank into the chair, ashamed,
remembering my shallow anger,
at the discarded comforter,
for a tiny hole,
while theirs was a torn one.

Lonely when I feel at times,
I must be thankful to God,
for the good food,
for the ceiling on cold nights,
for the warmth in the rain,
for something they lack-
a place called home.