Anger Of A Child Neglected

I do not care who you are. The color of gloaming has Not yet gone into my eye. I am a child who does not Recognize his mother like The child of a cobra. I hate Pretentions and wear a Difficult smile before a Stranger. I do not care if You care for me. If you Don't it does not matter To me. I hear your voice, Chiding and throwing curses At me as if I belong to A low caste. You have Once thrown an old shoe At me because I spilled Water from the glass On to your new frock. I Am scared now to enter Into your world of comfort You may turn me into a Whore of the mean streets.