Here, Comes Beggar. Poem by Bigyan Mainali

Here, come the beggar!
Before, the sun rise.
With bare hand, for search.
A search for kind hope,
That, make his day, full of nosh.


Look, here, comes the beggar!
With the face wrinkled,
With the lips twinkled,
With the blissful earth's mud,

He is the story of writer,
He is the poem of poet,
He is the land of hope,
He is thirster of love,
He is the outcry of opponent,
He is the beauty of hate,
He is the fund of kind,
He is all in one, but no one,
He has everything, but got nothing,
He starts with joy, but end with disgrace.

He is the wanderer, in desert,
Very rare to find the water,
The water, of kindness,
The water, of helpfulness,

He has legs, hands and life,
But he is begging, in the lane,
Few people are for his gain,
More people make, eyes to rain,

One man, asks bizarrely,
'Why do you beg, unless you, got everything to work? '
He replied with innocence, 'I have not got, one thing need for, work? '
'What it is? What it is? '
'My lord it's hope,
That, ignore to rope,
In my deep heart.'

His days are same, for years.
He, lives rarely, with love,
Each, look him with kind.

He has forget, about home,
About family, and the love,
What he knows, is kind
Hatred, loathes, and distress.

Oh! My heart, I now know,
Why, god lies, in their pillow.
They only pray, to god,
For each day, brings hope.
The hope of new life, and light.
But the god are in own business,
He has, got no interest.