The Beggar

I lie on the bed of dust - sun dust at the morning,

and start dust at the night.

Flies always buzz around me,

like the crazy paparazzis behind celebrities.

We are the patented inventors of torn clothes.

Irony, is they forget the source of today's trend,

when they look at us with disgust.

I take baths only in the open showers

of cold clouds showering at earth.

The only possession I possess to eat, beg

and sleep is the begging bowl.

Every single time when I raise my hand to beg,

I push my self respect far back.

Neither will I listen to my heart,

nor my mind.

If it was so, I would have either

died hungry or earned money.

I pay heed only to that little tummy of mine.

I don't beg for money,

I beg for compassion,

the compassion that can fill my starving stomach.

I have no greed for money, fame and fortune,

rather I'm ravenous for three meals a day.

At times, to soothe my hungry stomach,

I either sing or talk philosophy.

They neither hear nor listen,

since I'm no singer or philosopher.

I get angered at god,

for creating me

and then I think,

I live in a world full of people

with no identity,

when I'm lucky to have one, as beggar

I actually live down-to-earth,

until death and even after,

as I lie on the bed of dust.