The Mendicant Poem by Anand Shankar

There he is so tenuous so thin
Hairs all colly, temple full of dust
In eyes so pallid and a pointed chin
He looks like a rod covered with rust

The rugged bag on his back, glutted with things
And his crutch did not seem to be of much help
He walks slowly as a bird with tattered wings
Pulling with all force, he drags himself

On his chest cling a baby, he calls him grandson
Whom he uses as a prop in his daily business
The baby has no clue, he seems to have fun
Unaware of the future, full of pain and all mess!

Sahab, O Sir! Please give me a coin
Crying with all strength and his awkward movements
On the road side from noon to nine
He captures all eyes, for a few moments.

Cogitating that I fullfill my responsibilities to him
I dropp a penny in his bowl often when I pass
He goes back to his hut when the light gets dim
To return the next day, to seek help from the mass.