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In my early 20s I travelled and worked as a fashion model in Europe and was based in Paris for three years. I found it a challenge when taking the subway and streets by day to appointments to witness the poverty and then enter rich fashion houses for castings. The imbalance of kindness a challenge to witness. I would take coins daily in my pocket and hand them out to those less fortunate begging for help.

One day, I am walking down the very busy rue des tuillières and with so many people, it was hard to see ahead but soon I came to site and old man with white hair, sitting on the side of the pavement his back to the road, with his head bowed down. What shocked me in that moment, was how so many people were walking past him, ignoring him, not paying him any attention

As I approached, I saw his hands held out, and they were fingerless to the bone. I took a coin from my pocket, and as I stopped before him, I bent down to touch his hand before laying a coin in his mangled palm. In that moment, he lifted his head, his piercing blue eyes met mine and felt & saw deep into his soul.

So powerful was that moment that I translated those emotions I experienced into the following poem titled the man the mangled palm, on the busy routes of Paris in 1994. In the below, I recite this poem to you.