His dark skin bleeds with stories from the cold nights of poverty. He lives each day longing for freedom. Longing to be loved, to be warm and comforted. He stands there with hope in his eyes. Roaming the streets by day and trying to find shelter by night.
Poverty dwells within their pores yet their smiles illuminate the story behind the idea of love. Embracing the language of the waters and the sounds of the wind. It pierces their dark caramelized skin. Their beauty enriches the essence of the island. Their content with what God has given them despite the absence of glamour and gold. Every inch of their soul radiates power, and it flows within the land they call home.
Streets made from clay. Rocks scattered throughout the timeless ground of life. They ride on motorcycles, dashing through the city and tainting everyone with their eyes.