Posted by: Ron DuBour | December 21, 2017

A BEGGAR OF ALMS~by Jyotirmaya Thakur




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The lines of his palms are now pale,
Trembling stretched out disgraced,
Dried tears on his gray eyelids wail,
A spirit terrified of times he faced,
Emaciated portrait of harrowing tale.

Map of his city in the pavements dwell,
His green home swallowed by river swell,
Homeless he wandered in a city to melt,
Confused and desperate existence felt,
One day exhausted in gutter he fell.

Dirty water nourished his parched lips,
He awoke alive by miracle in sips,
A bowl of food beside him filled,
Destiny to live writ large in weeps,
Strange is his mission pathos instilled.

A beggar of alms identity unknown,
Death eludes him in fragile bones,
Witness increasing population of clones,
Youth loss speeding in terror zones,
Humanity sleeping without headstones.
Jyotirmaya Thakur copyright 2017.

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