Hope

The eat rice mostly, this hungry and unshaved

Breakfast at a table is an island of fantasy

That serves the imagination of dreams

Paper foils sometimes on the floor

Plastic fork here and there

If I were rice they would probably eat me

The rooms are dark

The dining with no electricity

The table covered with newspapers

As a table cloth

We go outside to eat sometimes

I’ve stayed in the backyard all my life

I want a peek of the front

Not much but hey we got something

Hunger is always a not a new word

Yawning is now a hobby

I’m in love with faith and hope

No more fighting fear with paper fork

Part of life happened

Waiting patiently for the other half