Beggar,
There he stoops all day,
Wrinkled,
Grey-haired,
Senile,
With his stained beard, and his pavement bowl,
Hand hopefully outstretched,
Entreating,
Entreating with his eyes,
Entreating with his tongue,
Entreating with his hand,
Yet we saunter by,
Eyes earthwards riveted.
Sometimes a gnarled stick,
Sometimes none,
Always the filthy kanzu,
We have observed him sightless,
Deaf and dumb,
We have seen him piteously, hopping
Hobbling and crawling.
Still we ignore the gnarled palm,
Still we pore over the drab pavement.
Perhaps he is blind
Pitiful
Yet he misses not every proffered coin
Though the gesture is silent.
Perhaps he can see?
So we stalk past.
