To start the day he positions a towel
to soften his knees on the stonemason ground.
He wears layers to keep a little warm.
He presents his hat upturned
and bows in the presence of the Lord.
Here he begins to pray.
He prays for the city, he prays for the earth.
He prays for the nation, and children at birth.
He prays to the wind, and he prays for the day.
He prays for people to throw in spare change.
A monk or a bum? I cannot decide.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love this poem! What a moving vignette of one's of life's wounded persons abandoned by society but not bitter and angry. You set up a day in the life of this man in the first half with realistic details that make him very PRESENT to me. This man is almost performing a ritual as he prepares his spot for begging. Then there's a twist: he prays for everyone and everything EXCEPT HIMSELF.You've created in this man a kind of believable modern saint and that is both uplifting and refreshing. The temptation in writing a poem like this is to sentimentalize the man but you don't fall into that trap. The extended passage of He prays for... is wonderful! This poem is a keeper, for sujre.