Blurred Reflections

The antique stood in the suburb alley, numb
the colors of the street, as vivid as its sounds
failed to impress the old blind deaf and dumb.

The unforgiving winter sent a chill down his spine
it enticed him with a feeling of life within him
now he craved for a piece of bread and wine.

A hand in his pocket picked change and counted
the other brandishing a cane that found his way
drawn by the smell from a peddler’s shop, chest mounted.

Some noodle and soup, a bowl of Sake served
the transaction made, a few yen short off the trembling hands
with heavier pockets and a trade to ply; on, the lad moved.

Sick and tired, the only life he would ever know
his hands busy making grub to feed the world
his legs bearing the weight of a shop in tow.

Between serving his customers and counting his pay
his grumbling stomach and aching back knew no pain
he was alive and staying so, mannequin-like in his ways.

He walked the colorful streets of sights and sounds, numb
lost dreams and hopes, darkness filled plight in his eyes
the young lad with his senses alive, yet felt, so blind deaf and dumb.