A Mad Girl

By the side of a country street

Under a Kadam tree

A mad girl sits on a sack.

She is a beggar but she hardly asks,

A brass pot she keeps

And silently she sits.

Twenty years or more

I watching her sit under the tree and beg.

Passersby, known unknown,

Halt and throw a coin or a note.

Eyes lost, tongue-tied,

And her legs withered long.

So she smells and folds her hands,

A smile she flashes,

And thus she blesses.