The Picker Boy

The boy picking up

The garbage thrown by me

Is somehow seems afraid

Of telling

What is paining him,

What is cutting his dreams,

What is polluting the legs

Of his growing

Once he talks he is free

But he doesn't talk much

About the necessity

He only shows the treasure

That he picked in the dawn

Alas! The people

Nearby,

Are throwing more and more on his hands

And today I feared

To throw that waste there

For he will never start talking

Only picking....

So I.....

I don't want to throw and help nearby people....