Fear not, you beggar-man!
When thou scorch’d by the Sun,
Which tanned thy head and skin;
No food or drink, grow thin!
Trudging the streets and lanes;
Seldom a person sane,
You meet; begging for alms
Or for coins in your palm.
On the pavement, you sleep;
Rain, no mercy doth keep;
Half-asleep, the night is gone;
Still drenched, Dawn has come on!
With loin-cloth and a bowl,
Beg you with odour foul;
With bent back, weary walk;
A sick look, none to talk!
You walk for miles and miles;
Emotionless but smiles!
With not enough good food;
On meandering roads.
In fast changing seasons,
Without any reasons,
With feet very fissured;
Uncomplaining, you walk!
No joy, hope or sadness,
In a world of madness;
Unfortunately, born;
Your days linger on.
Perhaps, within your heart,
To God, you must have asked;
“Why am I born like this,
with a wretched, unfair kiss? ”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem