a testimony, a poem

of many sleepless nights
there lives the odour
in its many layer of sits;
i seek virtue
for who i was
though, its beknown to all
no vistue for tramps
and the odour of tramps
who walks random streets
picking rags of torn relationships
wrtitng testimonies with words borrowed
and there, someday will be a full-circle
for i pity on those sleepless nights