A humble begger

That eve, solitary

Down the dusty street

In need of a pen of my choice,

Peeping here, choosing there

Came into a shop so cozy;

Whence a man old from age

In tattered attire,

So much like a sage bows,

‘lopen la,’ hissed he in humbleness

Or in earnest need

I know not-

Oh! Pity me!

For those pearls in the waning sight,

For those scars on his hands,

And on his frowning face a pain-

Oh! What little clothing he wore?

Him I blessed fifty notes

Smiling we parted strangers

And I in hunt for a pen again;

An hour brought me to a rest-or-rent,

Dark inn with stained bulbs,

Thirsty and hungry and drained

That summer;

Hailed I a Pepsi from the depth

Of a refrigerator.

In came him, my fifty notes comrade

Grinning sat across me

With folded hands to me says,

‘Lopen kadrinchhee so much,’

Alas I behold those innocent eyes

Drunk and reeking,

From beer or rum

I know not,

For as drunk as drunk can be

My humble beggar was.