In the shadows of the bustling city streets,
Where dreams are whispered, yet seldom heard,
Lives are tangled in a web of need,
Silent cries echo, unspoken words.

The children play with broken toys,
Their laughter a melancholic tune,
Hunger gnaws at their fragile joys,
Beneath the pale and silver moon.

Mothers weave tales of better days,
As fathers toil with weary hands,
In the land where hope often strays,
They build castles from shifting sands.

Yet in their eyes, a spark remains,
A glimmer of light that refuses to fade,
For even in the harshest chains,
Dreams of freedom are quietly made.