I am a poor beggar man
living on the dirty streets
wrapped up in fading blankets
and old torn newspapers
The winter days
endanger my health
some nights it feels like zero
I have nearly died already
Call me what you want
from your posh vehicles
I don’t care any more
rubbish litters the streets
thrown by rude shoppers
I have no money
not a piercing either
I spend my money on food
and trying to keep warm
When you sit by your roaring fire
or curled up in your bed
think of those who are on the streets
and don’t throw abuse or litter
but give them help
Almost all in an instance of fury. A beggar always stays a beggar. My place is predictable at streets.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
and don’t throw abuse or litter but give them help ............................................my favorite lines. :) by piercing do you refer to intravenous drug use; like an addict? - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - my favorite stanza: Call me what you want from your posh vehicles I don’t care any more rubbish litters the streets thrown by rude shoppers Terrific, hard-hitting poem, by a true humanitarian. but i don't get the Crying school kids exclusion from your pity/help. What ARE crying school kids? . you must have a good explanation for that, i suppose. though there are probably a lot of beggars who don't need to beg, there are also probably people who need some 'real help', even though you doubt the reality of their professed or implied situations. to MyPoemLIst. thanks for sharing. have a craze as day! bri