Rich, Poor London
A city of dreams. Of wealth, of love, of good fortune.
But I see my brother, sitting on the street corner. I smile at him, yet inside my heart knows there is nothing to smile for. I want him to know that I see him. He’s not invisible to me.
It’s getting cold outside. The worn clothes on his back are his winter coat, the stone-cold pavement his bed.
I walk past with my small family, warm, my stomach full, my soul content – I’m heading home. He isn’t heading anywhere though.
He turns over, trying to get comfortable, settling in for the night. I wonder what he thinks about. I wonder if his family are missing him. I wonder who he loves and what makes his soul soar. My smile isn’t much, but I hope it gives him hope.
I carry on walking, appreciating my every blessed step – but I cannot get him out of my mind.
How can my brothers and sisters be lining every street corner with no money, no food and no bed, when they are sitting amidst a gold mine?
Welcome to London – one of the richest, yet one of the poorest cities in the world.
