Vagabonds
traveling gypsies
baggage from the past
drug behind them
the left behind lost
on the periphery
like scavengers
they eke out a living
tokens precious to them kept
in dark corners of their slums
mementos of simple times
displayed on special shrines
these memories held dear
in a life of rigorous poverty
there at night pray for trivial things
at times praying to magic gods
for release from their sordid plight
sometimes praying for death
to visit them in their edgy slumber.