Who brought this dream, to a cold world?
A ragamuffin wrapped, in a banishment, hurled
Which creed is he, whose DNA?
A nameless soul, a fate astray
A broken birth, a broken boy
A footpath cradles, that castaway toy
How petrified, his every breath
A burdened being, akin to death
He plays pebbles, when not he begs
His lord, the tout, who owns his legs
A lie! This life! But was he ever promised?
Belonging to none, a sin, so a soul, never missed
Belong does he, to his tout’s decree
Baptized “Beethoven”, got a creed, to plead
Rendered drifter, marching Glossy Street
A human wrecked, in a world incomplete
Every season has a reason, as gloom has one
This Beethoven’s sonata, a torn life, unspun
Unschooled life, untaught music, a broken symphony
Sustained betwixt joys and woes, a humble harmony
He hits the streets, with his plaintive strokes
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