They who own the dust and befriend the urban mist
of deadly and black smog
who do not know the meaning of the word filth
with lives carved by nothing but nothingness

They rely on the pity of the heart
their skins hardened by the heartlessness of some.

Theirs are laughters that drown the roars
of angry jeepneys traversing claveria and San Pedro streets

They whose spirits speed off against the dead traffic lights
and washed out highway paints.

The rain and the sun are their children's playmates
and the rats and the roaches too

They...
Them...