Demand
The poor beggar outside Siva temple,
In anxiety, looks at devotees
passing in and out.
Eager, hungry, starving, eyes-sunken,
looking for mercy, as pilgrims drop coins
that jingle in an aluminium bowl.
Siva, shaken, stood in front,
questioned his need.
Impoverished Muni, the beggar
in supplication humble
breathed, sighed, blew out lungs,
then said ‘ Swami, grant me a golden bowl.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem