Unruffled and untouched
the cement bench hides a rag slouched
hidden from the world without
a rag dirty and uncouth
You would pass by the bench
Without eyeing it but for the stench
That awakens your loathing
For everything dying and decaying
You would curse the smell
Until the man from the tea stall
Comes out with warm Indian tea
Only then would you see
Something stir and know there’s life within
and wonder at the kindness unbidden
As he savours each sip of the warm elixir
Your heart goes out and you are stirred
He is warmed by the tea of kindness
Meagre in a world of blindness
Yet the light shining in his dying eyes
betrays his nearing leave from worldly mires
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem