THE BEGGAR

The beggar was walking on the street, 

amidst the rush and in the scorching heat.

Wrinkled skin and very weak legs, 

with folded hands for food he begs.

His clothes are tattered and mind is wailing, 

as he thinks of his past and sweet dwelling.

He had food, money, wealth for one and all, 

before the rioters, plundered him to his fall.

He just laments, with no one for him to pity, 

alas, this is the trait of such a big city.

He makes big strides with rapid paces, 

and picks up a morsel with someone's graces.

Some throw coins and some gives a scorn, 

this is his diet, from noon to morn.

With dirty hair and pale, weak eyes, 

his mind weeps and his heart cries.

Not a tear from his cheeks roll down, 

for the mindless people in the heartless town.

We have filled our pockets and stiffened our heart, 

and thus, it is how we contribute on our part.

The beggar wants to die and end his life, 

as he can't bear the neglect, struggle and strife.

The rain lashes down and wash away his tears, 

by morn his life ebbs out, and remove all his fears.

- Prasenjit Das © 97-99