Path of Broken Dreams

As I trail the sidewalk, I catch the eyes of the passersby. I hardly know them. They hardly know me. Much do they care about my existence or non-existence. Inside the suits and glasses are frail bodies and weary eyes, surrendered dreams and pains of frustration.

These are the people whom students look up to. I once dreamt to be like them. And when I came to where they've been, the first step of the ladder, I can no longer say I still look up at them.

I know they aren't weak. It's just that they were too afraid to take the risk or they haven't seen the opportunity that comes with the risk.

When I reached the corner, I sat by a lamppost. And I thought to myself, "The happiest day of my life would be when I'm brave enough to leave this place."

The skyscrapers, parking lots and elevator cars. They all house similar things -- broken dreams. Despite the promise of a good life they seem to foster, they were prisons of willing and unaware victims.

The victims? As much as they believe they are free, they are chained to poverty and deprivation.