37. A Beggar, For Love Poem by Eugene Issaus

I beg for love, and people give me their glances.

From when did I start sitting here?
I had forgotten.

Who was I before all these happened?
I could hardly recall. I don't want to remember.

(Thank you, sir.)

As coldly as he spares I nod at him.

Those fellows in their tidy suits rushing around,
as if generated by a random copy-and-paste.
I know some of them. They used to know me.

But now, just like being blocked out
by a large glass screen, I see them
moving and talking all the way-in silence.

(Thank you, ma'am)

Without a turn has she walked away.

This tunnel is a cosy place.
A better prison than mny in the world.

Is there enough love in the box for me to consume today?
I did not leave any yesterday. I was not able to.

Oh, that bit of love is not even enough
to burn my life through the dark night

so I just tear my box, with the love into pieces,
As my eyes darken and my limbs slacken,

'Tomorrow, tomorrow I shall not beg anymore...'
...Yes, I hear myself chanting this everyday,

Like an unknown prayer to an unknown God...
'Tomorrow I shall not beg anymore...'