Fog encircling a dimly street light
Footsteps heard in the quiet night
End of the block; two at the most
His misty form resembles a ghost
Head bowed like a priest in a prayer
I ask myself, "Is he asleep leaning there? "
Stands in that spot for several hours
Totally drenched from an evening shower
Crowd passes by without a single glance
He sizes them up while awaiting his chance
Being ignored, he stands there unfazed
I suspect that he has seen better days
Walk towards him; now in clear view
Dirt covers his face; his hair all askew
Like a death row inmate needing reprieve
Body stench makes my stomach heave
We stand face to face; glances exchanged
He seems uneasy asking for change
Clings to his pride, but there's no need
There is still a hungry mouth to feed
Look into those eyes that spoke of a life
Been a success with children and wife
Excelled more than most; top of his game
Now an empty shell without fortune or fame
Reached into my purse to pull out a ten
Had second thoughts, so I reached in again
Emptied my purse, yet filled with regret
It won't be enough to redeem self-respect
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem