There it was, 8 steps from where he stood,
Smelling faintly of fire and wood.
A loaf of soft gold
Within his reach, yet he could not hold.
Then a fragile thought crossed his mind:
He could steal it; no one would find.
But they do when it’s the poor.
He was shooed with hunger growing more and more.
A few streets away another one stood,
Nicer clothes but hair crude.
Feet warm and hands cold,
Looking at the foods being sold.
His name he left behind
With a cruel father and mother helplessly kind.
And as hunger knocked on the door,
His feet moved with mind unsure.
By evening the first boy had found pity.
He ran through the streets beyond the city
and returned to a home that now decayed.
The bread was useless, for the debt had already been paid.
The second returned home too,
To the house with brick walls, ice floors, and bruises blue.
Where his mother’s tears met his father’s rage.
Hunger made him desperate to crawl back to his cage.
--Sanne, @drish_0308 on Instagram , 22/02/2026
Theme : Others -- "The Illusion of Choice"